Moment of Truth

by Emrys Apollo

  “Alright… Let’s sort you out.” Jody muttered, helping Desmond back to his feet. There was a cut on Jody’s forehead that was weeping blood. He pushed Desmond’s hand away as the other man reached for it. “Let’s sort us both out.”

  Jody took the lead as they moved away from the wreckage of the hotel. What had gone down in the hotel room would be forgiven; the heat of the moment and annoyance at yet another failure getting to them both. But, unknown to Jody, Desmond had been installed with more determination than ever.

  His fingers clutched tightly to the photograph that had been taped to the chair. He knew where he needed to go next.

  - - -

  Luckily the shot to Desmond’s shoulder had only been a flesh wound. Although painful, it just added another layer to the pain he was already working through. It wasn’t enough to take him out of action, which was the main thing.

  Jody was convinced their off-the-radar exploits were done, something Desmond was happy about. Jody was not coming any further in this mission with him. A trap or no trap, the photograph had been explicit. Desmond was heading back to London alone. He just had to find a way to shake the man; Jody certainly wouldn’t let him go (especially alone) if he knew Desmond was walking straight into a trap.

  “When we get back we’ll show Henson the photo and tell him everything. It’s good that we know Antony has spoken about you and your private life. That means we can be much more weary when going forwards with any ‘clues’ we might have been given.” Jody said as he was packing up his bag. Desmond sat in a chair in the corner of the room, toying with his own bag.

  “I’m not telling Henson.”

  “I am.” Jody said, zipping up his hold all. “And you’ll be on forced and supervised bed rest for the next few weeks.”

  “You going to make sure of that?” Desmond questions lightly. Jody let out a sigh.

  “I know you’re worried, Desmond, and I know you just want him back, but we have to be sensitive. We can’t just go charging in. We need to think, plan and have back-up. Otherwise we’ll just keep tearing down buildings.”

  “I’m shocked you’re not on my wavelength.”

  “I am, but I’m more restrained. I know what we need to do to get them back and we can’t do that on our own.”

  “But Stuart-”

  “Stuart is a big boy and knows how to handle these situations. He’s been trained for this.” Jody patted Desmond’s good shoulder. “You’ve already tried emotional blackmail. I won’t let it work twice.”

  “I know.” Desmond said, looking Jody in the eyes. “That’s why I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Jody frowned. The words had barely left him mouth before Desmond was on his feet, one hand supporting the back of Jody’s neck whilst the other pressed the napkin soaked in chloroform over his nose and mouth. Jody’s eyes blew wide as he tried to fight Desmond, his fingernails clawing up his arms and across his skin.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I have to do this. You understand. You know my desperation. I need him back. Stuart may be safe because he’s trained, but Antony isn’t. Antony has already said too much. I don’t want them hurting him. I don’t want them forcing information out of him. I need him back. I need him safe. I need to stop failing him now.” Jody jammed his fingers into Desmond’s bad shoulder, causing the other man to grit his teeth in pain. But it didn’t deter him. Jody’s movements were already getting a bit sluggish, his eyelids beginning to droop.

  “I get that you can’t come with me. Honestly, I don’t want you with me. If I have to play their game just a little longer to get him back then fine, I’ll concede. You can’t tell Henson. Not until it’s too late for him to stop me. I need to do this. I’m the one that lost him in the first place, I’m the one who is going to get him back. I know on some level you understand that, so you know why I’m doing this. I can’t have you stop me.” As Jody began to go limp in Desmond’s arms, the other man guided him to the bed, making sure he was comfortable and safe. “I’m sorry. I just hope you can forgive me.”

  It took a little while for Jody’s body to completely give in to the chloroform. Once it had, Desmond made sure he was safe and secure before going into Jody’s bag and pulling out the disposable phone. Taking the number off his work phone, Desmond pressed the device to his ear. It rang twice before it was answered.

  “Who is this?”

  “Kendrick, it’s Desmond.” Desmond said, closing his eyes. There was a moment of silence.

  “Desmond?”

  “Yes… and hello, Henson.”

  “You mind telling us where this call is coming from, Desmond?” Henson asked softly.

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. You’re already tracing the call.”

  “You could speed up the process. We’ve been worried about where you are.”

  “All you need to know is Jody is fine, but there has been an incident and he’s currently unconscious in the Colloto Town Hostel. Private Room 6.”

  “What happened?” Kendrick asked.

  “He didn’t follow orders when he should have.” Henson muttered. “Status?”

  “He’s fine. Breathing. Chloroform inhalation.”

  “But you’re fine?”

  “He didn’t break orders, he followed mine when he shouldn’t have done. I need some back-up. I can’t get him to safety alone.”

  “Back-up is on the way.” Henson said. “30mins. Will he be okay until then?”

  “Should be fine.” Desmond nodded, hanging up the phone. He placed the phone in Jody’s hand, checking him over once more before he got to his feet. Sliding his bag over his shoulder, he closed the door behind Jody and headed out of the hostel.

  He hated that he had to do it, but it was the only way to continue undetected. This was Desmond’s game now, and with the photo tucked safely into his inside jacket pocket, he had one thing he had to do.

  He had to get back to London as soon as possible.

  CHAPTER 10

  The ticking of the clock sounded too loud in his ears. Like it was tormenting him, goading him, baiting him to snap and lash out at it. But he was holding his nerve. Just. The tick-tock was drilling deeper and deeper into his brain as his eyes scanned the surrounding area outside the window, peering through the gap in the curtains he had made.

  With a deep breath, he stepped away from the curtain, taking the four weighted steps back over to the chair on the other side of the room. He sunk into the soft upholstery and let out the breath he was holding. The clock ticked on as his eyes fell on the photo he had laid on the desk, now just inches from the fingertips of his left hand.

  Pain still jolted through him as he looked down at it. It was a better time; one where there was no stress or worry, just happiness and joy. A time where, yes, he had his secret, but there was no danger, no one was out to get him, no one was going to use the man he loved as a pawn in some twisted game against him.

  Desmond closed his eyes, unable to keep looking at Antony’s photographed smiling face. He let out three shaky breaths before he opened them again, eyes back on the window. His jaw locked as he pushed back to his feet and moved across the room.

  It was a horrible habitual loop he had gotten himself into: checking the outside world had no idea he was here, feeling confident they didn’t, sitting down and being unable to deal with the pressing silence so he surveyed the area again. Just to distract himself, try and pull him out of his thoughts. It wasn’t working, but at least he felt like he was doing something, even though he wasn’t.

  Hours had to pass before he set off to the instructed meeting point. Desmond had camped out in an abandoned safe house, hoping that no one would try and find him there. Jody would be back awake by now, and if not, Henson was certainly now with him and waking him back up so he could spill all on what Desmond had done and was doing. He knew the team would be in London. They would have made the trip as soon as Jody uttered the word. And Henson would be moving to catch him and bring him in, losing his final chance to prob
ably ever get Antony back.

  Tonight would be the last chance he had to see Antony alive. If he didn’t show, Desmond knew the kidnappers would believe he wouldn’t play by their rules or do anything that they asked, so their need for Antony would disappear.

  His fist tightened at the thought; he couldn’t deal with imagining even a hair on Antony’s head being hurt. But there was one thing Jody had been right about; Antony had talked. He’d told them all they would ever need to know about Desmond. It left Desmond with only one choice as he took on this evening’s mission.

  He had to kill every single last one of the kidnappers’ team.

  - - -

  The wind battered against Desmond’s visor as he rotated his right hand tightly around the accelerator of the motorbike. His jaw was locked in deep set concentration as he hurtled towards the meeting point. He had an uncountable number of weapons concealed all over his body, having prepared for any and all outcomes for tonight’s mission. He wasn’t walking away until Antony was safe and every one of the fuckers who had put him through this misery was dead.

  No one had found Desmond. Whether he’d hidden too well or they had found him but were leaving him to his own devices, Desmond wasn’t sure. All he knew was that, as far as he was aware, he was alone. And that was exactly how he wanted it to be.

  Desmond was forced to weave between the London traffic as his mind was locked on the route he had rehearsed and learned for most of the afternoon. He knew where the traffic lights would be, hot spots for traffic and which traffic signs he didn’t have to listen to. He knew where he could make up time he may have lost, and he knew exactly where he might lose time.

  The traffic really thickened up as Desmond grew closer to Tower Bridge and he quietly wished he had the team behind him on this one. They could have set up diversions and given him a clean run to the meeting point. Making some risky moves, Desmond slowly but surely got closer and closer to the Bridge, and it suddenly became very clear why there was such a traffic build up.

  The Bridge was up, with absolutely no way of being able to cross it, let alone get on it, and it didn’t look like there was any sign of it coming down any time soon. The diverted traffic was being pushed further along the river to the right, diverted heavily out of the way. Panic shot through Desmond.

  He didn’t even hesitate before pushing his bike forwards and coming to a stop in front of the traffic co-coordinator. He flicked up his visor as the man looked over to him.

  “I need to get on the bridge.” Desmond said, trying to keep his voice level. The guy grunted.

  “Bridge is closed. You have to go-round.” A heavy London accent replied.

  “I need to get on that bridge.” Desmond stressed. He was rouge at the moment, which meant no help and no loop holes and no flashing his credentials to be let through.

  “You can try, but you’ll probably get wet.” The guy shrugged, looking back towards the traffic and waving more cars round. “I just have to ask you leave your bike here. There’s enough shit in the Thames without having to fish that thin’ out.” The guy smirked.

  Rage shot through Desmond as he clambered off the bike. He caught the guy’s collar, pulling their faces close together.

  “I’m the wrong guy to mess with.” Desmond muttered, his tone dark and threatening. The traffic guy swallowed uncomfortably.

  “Just doing my job.” He tried to explain, but Desmond wasn’t listening.

  “I’ve been made very desperate, which makes me very dangerous. So I suggest you talk to whoever’s in charge and you let me on that bridge.”

  “I’ve told you,” The guy said, shoving Desmond off him. “Bridge’s closed. Needs to be up for something coming down the river. So there’s no one to talk to. You can’t get on it.” Desmond was about to bite back when the phone in his pocket started ringing. He’d completely forgotten about the one means of communication he had with the kidnappers. Stepping back towards his bike, Desmond pulled off his helmet, flicking the phone open as he did.

  “Good to see you’re alone.” The voice smiled down the phone. Desmond’s eyes ran over the surrounding buildings, searching for the person on the other end of the phone. “Finally you might be following orders, although we do know you’re not very good at that.”

  “This is you then?” Desmond said, inclining his head towards the closed bridge. “Quite a lot of chaos down here.”

  “Mmmm… But quiet as a mouse over here.” Desmond’s eyes narrowed.

  “Why would you send me to where you weren’t going to be?” Desmond asked slowly, trying to keep control of his anger. Checking his watch, he noted there was less than ten minutes until the meet time.

  “I was curious how well you would follow orders.” The voice said lightly, as if stating the weather. Desmond’s grip tightened on the phone. “Call it a contingency plan.”

  “Setting me up to lose?”

  “Oh no, no no.” The voice tutted. “You’ve still got eight minutes.”

  “And if you’re on the other side of London-”

  ‘-It is possible to get here in eight minutes from where you are.” Desmond waited.

  “And where are you?”

  “You’ll work it out.” Desmond shook his head.

  “This is impossible.”

  “Clearly you don’t want to find him that much… A shame. I will let him know you gave up on him just before we put a bullet in his head.” Ice shot down Desmond’s back. His throat went dry and he couldn’t think of how to talk. “Seven minutes now, going to be tight…”

  Desmond’s mind went blank. Without a second through for the phone he snapped it shut, clambering back onto his bike and spinning it around. He shot off in the opposite direction of the traffic, knowing there was no way in hell he would get even halfway through that before his time was up.

  Panting hard, Desmond’s eyes scanned the area for anything that might give away and indication of where he should be heading. Road diversion signs flashed past his eyes as he pushed on faster, willing the bike to slip through the traffic. Angry beeps of cars horns followed him as he carved a path through the evening congestion.

  They couldn’t be far, of that Desmond was sure. He could get there in seven minutes. They were ruthless, yes, but Desmond was certain that they wouldn’t set him an impossible task. If they had any slim hope that Desmond would still work with them, they knew that they would need to keep Antony alive.

  The traffic thinned as Desmond tore down the Thames River, allowing him to open up the throttle and go a little faster than he probably should be on the city streets. He was starting to panic, with nothing seeming out of place or sticking out as a sign as to where Antony could be. He refrained from checking his watch, scared to find he might have already run out of time.

  The sign indicating that Waterloo Bridge was closed made Desmond tap the brakes.

  He’d scouted this entire area, checked out the road closures and road works, found the perfect and quickest route to where he needed to get to. That bridge was not supposed to be closed.

  He didn’t give himself time to consider any other options. Throwing his bike around the corner, he set off towards Waterloo Bridge. There was no way that this could be wrong; he’d studied all the diversions he could potentially hit, anything that might slow him down. That bridge was certainly not supposed to be closed.

  It didn’t surprise him that, on approach to the bridge, the roads were closed, clear of traffic, but there was no one policing them. No one there to stop him as he threaded his bike through the bollards. It also didn’t surprise him that there was no work going on around the bridge, that the roundabout circling the large IMAX cinema was clear of everything, from cars to people.

  He ignored traffic laws considering the road was close and void of anyone but him, turning right at the roundabout and ending up straight onto the bridge. His eyes took in the crowd of dark figures ahead of him, the one with a bag over his head and the one restrained to his right: Antony.

&nbs
p; From the middle of the bridge, Antony’s eyes widened and he strained against the two men holding him in place as Desmond’s bike, racing towards them, was shot from a well-positioned sniper, and exploded in front of him.

  Antony tried to shield his eyes as debris and heat was thrown towards him. He was being held far enough back that he couldn’t be hurt by the explosion, but that didn’t stop him from cowering from the heat. Breathing hard, he turned back to where he had just seen Desmond, eyes scanning desperately to see him. Had they killed him? Had they allowed Desmond to get that close to him and then just killed him? Antony was hyperventilating, screaming for Desmond though his voice was muffled from the gag that had been tied around his mouth and the sharp ringing in his ears. He tried to struggle free but he wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t strong enough to fight for Desmond even though Desmond had proven how much he would fight for him. Antony slumped forward in the kidnapper’s tight grasp as the tears started to overcome him.

  Suddenly, Antony fell forwards, landing harshly on his face as the grip from the guy on his left went slack. He had a moment of shock before the other guy holding him let go too. Awkwardly, he maneuvered himself to a sitting position, squinting towards the smoking remains of Desmond’s bike.

  Another shot screamed across the void, taking out another guard near Antony, as Desmond aimed from within the smoke. He had suspected it wouldn’t be that easy to just drive up to Antony, so had launched himself from the bike moments before it was shot. Using the now smoke screen that his bike was producing, Desmond had set his eyes on Antony’s guard, using his silencer-equipped Heckler and Koch USP Tactical to take them out before any of them detected he had not been on the bike when it exploded.

  “Open fire!” was followed by an attack of automatic machine gun showering over him. Desmond dove for the smoldering remains of his bike for some kind of protection, but it was clear this wouldn’t work for long. It looked like his cover was up.

  “Alright!” Desmond hollered, lifting his arms in a half surrender. The machine gun stopped, but he could tell it wouldn’t take much for it to restart. Coughing a little at the fumes he had breathed in from the bike, Desmond stood, moving towards the group in front of him. All guns were trained on him as he moved into sight. He swore mentally as he saw that two more guards had hold of Antony, who now had blood pouring from his nose. He sighed. “Well, that was dramatic.”