In Dartford, in another dimension and in accommodation that was the polar opposite of the Sofitel, Constantin listened to a bird singing in a nearby tree. A song thrush. Beautiful. It reminded him of his brief childhood; a melodic, peaceful sound was all he could hear. Actually, that and the distant thrum of cars and lorries continually crossing the Thames was all he could hear, especially when the wind blew in from the east. But then he listened again. There was a pitiful sigh, a whisper of fear. It was her.
He ran his fingers through her hair and stroked her cheek. It was a moment of misplaced compassion before he started.
“Hold her arm.”
The local anaesthetic flooded into her. He owed the wretched cow that much.
He was no longer the ex-prisoner, fascinated by chemistry, the hired killer with a ferocious heroin addiction. He was Constantin Nicolescu, surgeon.
Her brain flooded with worry and questions for which she had no answer.
‘Where were her saviours? She worked for the bloody guardians, where were they now? Where was her big brother? Why didn’t her departed mother send a message from the grave? Someone? Please...’
The blade cut through the outer layer of skin. It was razor sharp. At first she felt nothing. But then the nerves started to send their frantic signals back to her brain. Pain. There was no other word for it.
More localised drugs. This was a first for him, too. He needed to keep her stable.
The blade began to saw through her wrist. They could hear it. He looked at the younger male as it severed the veins, nerves, tendons and muscle. He cut deeper and pushed down, as a chef cuts into a tough piece of meat or a Halloween mother forces her blunt knife into a child’s faceless pumpkin.
He was fascinated by what he saw, stopping briefly to examine his work and what lay beneath.
He pulled at the limb. It wasn’t as clean as he had hoped. The text books had lied. She had passed out. Her arm no longer fought him, so he took the opportunity to detach the hand from the radius and ulna, rocking it back and forth until it snapped free. When he looked at it, at liberty from its host, he felt a sense of enthralment. Almost waiting for it to move.
Had he not have fitted the junctional tourniquet, she would have bled to death. The military medics were the saviours of so many casualties with their battlefield discoveries. He knew he’d read almost all of their books. He screwed down the pressure ball onto the artery and the bleeding, at least the voluminous flow, stopped. The site still bled, and he was covered in it, hands, arms, trousers. Sticky and sweet, a tang of aluminium, drying quickly in the air.
“See? This is why I do not change yet.” It was supposed to be amusing, but the younger male was retching. Who was this butcher before him?
All he had to do now as pray the younger male kept her alive. Hemostatic bandages were rammed into the void and instructions were given very clearly in their mother tongue. Technology might save her, he said. That and her will to survive.
“I need to leave her with you. Keep that limb elevated and change the dressings like I showed you. If she dies, it will be your fault.”
He began to wonder whether he had taken on too much. His reputation was out on a limb – a bit like Cynthia – he laughed to himself.
‘Nicolescu the surgeon. What would mother think of me now?’
He went from the rudimentary operating theatre, through the main accommodation area that included cooking facilities, en route to another room.
Once there, he found what he was looking for. He stopped and looked down, realising why the others had stared at him so intently. It was garish, surreal, hideous but fascinating. In his left hand, was hers.
Opening the second holdall with his master hand, he found what he needed. He reverently placed the severed hand to one side and then emptied a box of cheap candles into an old saucepan that was sitting on a portable gas stove that the team used to cook their meals. He then slowly watched as the wax filled the pan to halfway.
As the wax became an opaque liquid, he produced a piece of white card from the bag, together with a permanent marker. He began to write.
Jack. ‘He will not spare when he takes revenge.’ AS.
The message was biblical, chosen by a man who had learned its contents at an early age. It was exactly what he had asked for. Constantin knew better than to meddle with the words.
The molten wax was poured into an old can, which was then placed into a pool of cold water. The hand was lowered into the wax as it started to set. The congealed blood mixed with the whitening wax as he slipped the message between the fingers. The last important part was the wick.
He stood and watched as the candle formed, becoming whiter by the second. It soon solidified, the base colours swirling red and white. It was almost artistic. Ensuring it was sufficiently cool he admired it once more, and unable to see through it, content with his work, he lowered it into a presentation box. He was satisfied. Almost happy.
“Boy!” He called out to the other room.
“Put this box into another, mark it fragile, and have it couriered to this address. Go to the next town and do it. Pay cash. No conversations other than the bare minimum. No mistakes.” The young male nodded and took the package and headed for the nearest town in another low value but legal car, bought from a side street for cash.
The surgeon thought about his patient once more, wondering whether she was still alive, and importantly, what he would do with her next.
Cade had successfully guided a slightly drunk Helston back to their hotel. Through the foyer to a knowing smile from the blonde surfer, into the lift and to the door of her room, four away from his.
“Your room, ma’am.”
She was more affected by her own product than she realised.
“Oh, thank you kind sir.” She tried to bow but stumbled. It had been a long time since anything like this had happened.
He held her up against the door frame and flashed her access card across the reader.
Easing her into her room, he noticed that she had already unpacked, she was nothing if not prepared.
“Coffee, Jack?”
It was tempting. But he knew to say no.
“Thanks, Kim, but I had better say no.”
“Jack Cade, are you blushing? I was offering you coffee, nothing else.”
He could only reply, “Come here you. It’s been a long day.”
He pulled her towards him and held her. She felt good. She looked great, still fit, and she reacted to his hug by pressing her face into his neck and kissing it. He could smell her hair, he inhaled and could feel himself becoming aroused. So could she.
“It’s been a very long time, Kim. You know when we worked in France…”
She put a finger up to his lips. “Say nothing.”
She moved her face and kissed him. He kissed her, gently. She sighed, closed her eyes and kissed him again. The kiss and the physical embrace lasted a minute.
“I need to go Kim.” He held her, not at arm’s length, but it may as well have been.
She smiled, kicking her shoes off and turning her back to him.
“Unzip me, would you, inspector?”
The klaxon in his mind was screaming stop!
He walked the few paces to her, unzipped the dress and slipped the straps from her shoulder.
“I have to go. Now.”
“You certainly do. Sweet dreams.”
As she walked away the dress dropped to the ground, revealing black knickers, no bra. Her toned body looked even better than he could have ever imagined. She glanced back across a tanned shoulder and smiled, then collapsed onto the bed, face down, and as he stood and watched her, she drifted into a deep sleep.
He walked to the side of the bed, pulled the covers up and over her legs, did what most men would do and ruefully studied her body, looked at her underwear. It was far from cheap and possibly selected for the evening. Possibly not.
With his mind revolving like a cyclone, he ran his hand over the lower part
of her back, walked his fingers up her spine towards her neck, where he paused, brushed her hair from her face and placed a kiss onto her neck, then tapped her back, it was saying goodbye as best as he could.
She responded by lifting her arms up and under the pillow and letting out a gentle and relaxed sigh. It was obvious she felt secure in his company.
Cade felt comfortable too – as he pulled the covers up and over her naked back, he paused again.
Should he stay, or should he go?
Pulling the curtains closed and turning off the light he began to regret his decision.
“Ever the gentleman, Cade. Ever the gent.” He closed the door, securing it twice and walked to his room smiling. He had either missed the opportunity of a lifetime or dodged a bullet. He would never know.
Minutes that felt like hours slowly evaporated as Constantin paced around the derelict outbuildings. Brambles and vines were growing around them, suffocating the life out of the old place. He was sensing a feeling that he too was being throttled by guilt. It was unlike him. Perhaps age was reducing the years of neurosis and evil? He was waiting for the next call from Alex. The Jackdaw had been freed from his cage and Phase Three would soon commence.
Alex had chosen to brief only his most important people, his brother Stefan, his lieutenant Artur Gheorghiu, and to their surprise Constantin. Alex knew that in Constantin he had an assassin, a surgeon, a chemist and a bomb maker. He also knew that employing him was not without risk. He had seen and heard of the destruction he had caused and realised that one day he could become feral – biting the hand that had fed him since the dire day he had been recruited by the Septal Val – the Seventh Wave.
Another nameless male, in his late twenties with three days’ growth, appeared in the semi-shade of the doorway. He was holding the team’s phone.
“It is for you, sir.”
Constantin rubbed his hands together vigorously to remove more of the dried blood, lifted the phone to his ear and spoke.
“Yes.” It was deliberately clipped. He had been warned.
“I am moving as planned. The Queen Bee to the hive. Have you sent the message – exactly as I asked?”
“Exactly.”
“Good. Now we can begin to have some fun. You know what to do?”
“Yes. Of course. Do I have your permission to start – today?”
“As long as you don’t allow them to find us and put us back in those terrible places – then yes – do as you wish and with whom.”
He heard him say ‘girl, come here and teach me things’ before the line cleared. It was obvious that now he was out and free again, he was making up for lost time. He hoped she did exactly as he said, for the last one that disappointed him was still decomposing on a mountainside in Spain – dying, where he had dragged her behind his car and rolled her down a rock-strewn slope, terrified and still alive.
Chapter Eleven
They met as arranged in the Atelier restaurant, the heart of fine dining at the Sofitel, Darling Harbour.
She had got up early and run, in the opposite direction to Cade, taking in the cooler part of the day and marvelling at the sunrise. Back in her room she took advantage of the deep bathtub, sinking into it and watching through the full height window as the world dragged itself out of bed, like ants down below scuttling here and there, and heading to their place of work.
She did the same once. In fact, she started her police career a stone’s throw away from where she now lay, partially submerged in perfect surroundings. Like most police officers, she started on the beat, the real way to learn the noble art; walking everywhere, talking to everyone until she knew the whole beat area and importantly, what made it tick; who, when, what, how and why.
She knew where. In fact, she prided herself on knowing the lay of the land better than any of her peers. And the bosses saw this in her too. She became a detective at a time when such roles were considered unlikely for a woman, then promoted to sergeant within a few years.
Detective Sergeant Kim Helston was the first of her kind to implement a new approach to victim related policing and became what many considered a legend in the area of investigative approaches to serious crimes against the person. Within three years she had made it to detective inspector, transferred to the Federal Police and was told to never look back.
Life and her career were blossoming. She met a likely husband via the job – obviously – but things became sour when he was investigated for fraudulent expense claims, and on his way down tried to drag her with him. His peers felt there was enough mud to stick and avoided her like the plague. She was innocent beyond belief. But mud stuck and her partner was guilty.
She offered her resignation six months into the investigation into what she saw as an attack upon her credibility and integrity. It was then that a senior manager, the one who had actually recruited her into the Criminal Investigation Branch, saw an opening that he knew would benefit all.
“Ever been to France, Kim?”
“No, sir.”
“I hear it’s very nice at this time of the year. There’s a desk with your name on it. You can leave in a month. Take some time off between now and then. Au revoir.”
For many, it was an enforced departure. For DI Kim Helston, it was the break she needed. Once in France, at Interpol’s HQ she blossomed; the pruned-back rose allowed to flower again. She learned about international crime and criminals, syndicates, stolen artwork and child custody cases, borderless crime, fraud and people smuggling. But best of all, she learned about wine. In particular, she discovered the complexities and delights of Syrah, in a region famed for its success. Why not take the opportunity to learn a new skill?
A seed was sown that would germinate years later at Witches Falls, ten thousand two hundred and eighty miles away. Exactly.
And, although she had never admitted it to him, she made another of her greatest discoveries; Inspector John Cade. Jack, to his friends.
And here she was sat opposite him, dining on fruit and muesli and sipping tea.
“Is that how you retain such an amazing figure, Kim?” Cade said, gesturing to the breakfast with his spoon.
“Depends, which part you mean Jack?”
“Well, the fruit I guess.”
“I meant my figure. I guess you saw enough of it last night to decide?”
“I did. But Kim you need to know…”
“It’s OK. I know. I woke about half an hour later to find myself semi-naked and covered up. Ever the bloody gentleman!”
Cade was still undecided. Lost opportunity or bullet dodged?
“I’m teasing you, Jack. Come on, you know me well enough. Thank you for being that perfect gent. Most men would have at least had a grope. Here, try this, it’s good for you.” She offered a spoonful of fruit, which he took.
Things were back to normal.
“Bacon?” He offered a forkful.
She sipped on something green. “No. Thank you. Most kind. So last night. Tell me you didn’t at least take a look?”
“As I covered you up, I marvelled at the delightful shape of your arse and those delicious dimples above your hips. I wanted to slip my hands underneath your body and feel just how pert your breasts were. There, happy now?”
She was actually quite shocked. “Jack! Is that true?”
“No, Kim, it’s not.”
She looked vaguely disappointed.
“Well OK, I may have had a feel of your tits. Right, come on, we have a plane to catch.”
He dodged a slap, headed to reception, and paid the bills. It was the least he could do for an old friend who was willing to drop everything for him, including her knickers. He was still glad she hadn’t. It was better that way.
“Taxi will be here in twenty. I’ll see you back down here, I’ve got a call to make.”
She breezed through the reception area and slid in between closing lift doors, looking back and winking at him as the automated female announced where she was heading.
“Yo
u are very naughty.” He said out aloud as the phone was answered in the UK.
“Jack, you old devil. You must have read my mind. How are things?”
“Cut to the chase, Jas. What do I need to know?”
“Long or short version?”
“Short. I’ve got ten before the taxi takes us to the airport.”
“Us?”
“It’s a longer story than yours. Crack on mate.”
“OK. Dave Francis is here, at the Yard. I’ve hired him to do some analysis on your recommendation, that and the other bits that you said he was a genius at.”
“OK. I’m sure I’ll find out why when I get back next week. But in the spirit of collaboration, good call.”
“In short, his place was burgled. One hell of a fight. Guess who the offender was?”
“No idea. The reincarnated Kray Twins?”
“No. That would have been more believable. Our old friend Nicolescu.”
“Jesus Christ. Any better news?”
“Well yes, he got arrested by the local force.”
“Wonderful! And there’s a ‘but’ about to be inserted here, isn’t there?”
“So to speak Jack…” Roberts paused then spat it out.
“He’s escaped. Off the face of the bloody earth.”
“Brilliant. And the good news?”
“There isn’t any. We think Alex is on shore. Either that or he’s coming. A few bits of chatter we’ve picked up on the wires and from a few trusted sources. We are playing with the big boys since Hewett seduced the Secretary of State. We just need a direct signal to confirm our suspicions.”
“It will be subtle, Jason.”
“Alex Stefanescu subtle?”
“Yes, trust me. If he’s looking to step up a gear, he’ll do it in phases, then hit us hard when we are at our weakest. Look for a subtle message. He has a lot of unfinished business, as do I.”
“OK. I’ll bow to your greater knowledge. What will you do if you ever meet him?”
“Ha. I have many plans that visit me in the wee small hours. The latest was cuffing him to a freight train.”
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 12
