Hunters: A Trilogy

by Paul A. Rice

  Mike turned calmly to him and asked for the zapper, which Ken had used for the Spears. Ken passed it to him with a bemused expression upon his face. It soon changed to one of amazement as Mike flicked open the front cover of the key fob. Ken undid his seatbelt and leaned forward to watch as Mike pushed down on the small arrow. Normally the operation of that particular button would see the Spear doing its amazing Shrink Down trick. However, with the cover removed, all that happened was a thin wedge of green light started to project by about three inches from the end of the device.

  Ken reached forward and touched it with his fingertip. It wasn’t contained in anything and all he felt was a faint tingle as the strange light shone onto his skin. ‘What the hell is that?’ he asked, looking at Mike in bafflement.

  Mike grinned like a madman. ‘This, my old friend,’ he said, ‘is a master key, the master key, apparently.’ He was about to explain the intricacies of the key to Ken, when Jane spoke again, and her tone was urgent.

  She had been watching the Mercedes carefully and noticed its left indicator starting to flash. As she saw the car starting to manoeuvre its way through the traffic, she hissed: ‘Guys, it looks like he’s pulling over!’ Looking ahead for its possible destination, Jane glimpsed the flashing shop sign. ‘This is definitely it,’ she said. ‘There’s the shop! It’s the one from George’s briefing.’ She pre-empted the other car’s movements and pushed over to the left side of the road. The movement caused a black taxi to honk irritably behind her. Ignoring the cab, she gained access to the left lane and pulled up behind a white delivery van. The driver was in the process of sliding its side door shut and he waved at her in a gesture which said he was about to leave. Jane waited until he pulled out and then parallel parked next to the pavement.

  ‘Perfect, they’re just parking now – nicely done!’ Ken said, squeezing her upper arm before stepping out of the Spear.

  Mike followed him. Just before he shut the door, he said to Jane: ‘Keep an eye on us, if anything starts to go wrong then give the horn a blast, okay? Otherwise, wait until we move off and then overtake us as soon as you can, we need to follow you to the next point.’ As she nodded, Mike closed the door and walked around the front of the X6 to join Ken, who was waiting on the pavement.

  He looked at Mike, then turned and walked towards the silver car. He saw a group of youths eyeing up Charlie as he entered the store. ‘I wouldn’t bother, boys,’ Ken thought, as he looked at the chauffeur towering over them. ‘He’ll tear your weedy little arms off!’

  As if in acknowledgement of Ken’s thoughts, the gang turned and wandered off up the street - one of them kicking an empty can that clanked loudly as it bounced off the iron-railed fence. Ken heard their laughter float down towards him. He also noticed the steam wafting from the car’s exhaust pipe. It was the only thing he needed to see. The last doubt was gone. Ice-cold adrenaline filled his chest, the time was right. He hissed: ‘Now, Mike – let’s go!’

  They opened their pace and strode towards the Mercedes. Ken crossed behind the car and headed for the driver’s side. After a quick glance at the shop doorway, he reached down, opened the door and glanced into the back seat area. McBride looked up at him and then jumped in surprise when the expected Charlie was nowhere to be seen.

  Eyes wide with anger, he sat forward. ‘Excuse me,’ he spluttered, ‘but what the fuck are you…’ He didn’t get to finish the question.

  Mike opened the passenger door, his movement causing the angry McBride to swivel his eyes away from Ken. Just as McBride was about to say something else, Mike sprayed him with the silver can. The practice they had done paid dividends – his aim and timing were impeccable. The smallest of squirts was all it took; a fine carpet of the vapour landed straight onto McBride’s upturned face. Ken watched as the tiny, energy-filled droplets began igniting on his skin. As the spray made contact with him, McBride gasped in shock, eyes widening alarmingly.

  His attackers saw a trail of the deadly droplets waft straight into his open mouth. Ken would never forget the weird sight of the miniscule lightning-flashes as they erupted on the surface of the man’s tongue, their ignition illuminating his white teeth like strobe lights firing inside his mouth. McBride went rigid for a second or two, fear and realisation rolled across his face, then, with his eyes wide open, he stiffened and toppled sideways onto the armrest next to him. It only took seconds and the job was complete.

  Ken slid into the driver’s seat, snicked the car into gear and pulled out into the evening rush hour traffic. Mike closed the passenger door as they pulled away, and then turned to examine their victim. He lay across the armrest with his eyes closed and hands clenched. Mike turned back to the front, sniffed, and said, ‘Open the window a bit, will you? That stuff stinks!’

  Ken obliged and then checked his mirrors, smiling when he saw the BMW three cars behind them. Its high level xenon lights gave him a decent view of where Jane was situated. He slowed to let the other cars pass him, and then as soon as Jane had overtaken the Mercedes, sped up and tagged onto the back of her.

  Following the Navigator’s blue arrow, Jane led them to the remote spot where they were to leave McBride. She stopped short and let the Mercedes go past and onto the grass. Ken parked the car underneath some trees. Mike jumped out of the Merc’ and ran across to the Spear; Jane opened the door and listened as he asked her to check the scanner. Once she had reported the all clear, he turned and went back to give his friend a hand.

  They opened the rear doors and laid McBride comfortably across the back seat. Anyone passing would assume the well-dressed businessman was simply having forty winks after a hard day’s work. The men weren’t sure how long their victim would be unconscious, and even if the area was clear at that precise moment, it didn’t mean that someone wouldn’t come around the corner unexpectedly.

  The Spear was parked at the end of the small track behind them and they hurriedly made their way over to it. Climbing into their seats, the two men were greeted by Jane’s questions. ‘How did it go? You were in there pretty quick, was it all okay?’ she asked. ‘I’m almost sure that nobody saw you. His driver came out just as I was passing. I saw him looking down the road, but I don’t think he noticed anything.’ As she listened to their answers, Jane turned the Spear around and parked it at an angle where they were able to watch McBride’s car in their mirrors.

  They didn’t have long to wait. Within minutes, McBride stumbled out of the car and immediately vomited into the bushes growing in front of the Mercedes. Standing in the darkness, he wiped his mouth and looked dazedly around at his surroundings. Then he proceeded to walk in circles for a while – they saw him talking rapidly, as though engaged in a vehement argument with someone. It was bizarre and every now and then he would shake his hands in front of his own face, the actions were that of a very angry and very distraught man.

  ‘The guy’s gone fucking nuts, what the hell is in that stuff?’ Ken whispered. He felt quite sorry for McBride, but fell back on the memory of young Joe and used the thoughts in order to avoid the slight feeling of guilt he was starting to have.

  Mike and Jane sat in silence and watched the screen as it flickered with some incoming data. After about ten minutes of this performance, McBride stopped, stood absolutely still for a few seconds, as if listening to some inner voice, and then turned and climbed into his car. Seconds later, he accelerated past the darkened Spear, leaving them with a glimpse of his faintly illuminated features as he headed towards his destiny.

  Jane followed at a distance, keeping the tail lights of their quarry in sight. Mike traced his progress on the screen and occasionally glanced up at the blue arrow. ‘Good, he’s heading for the office,’ he said, as the screen flashed with the destination logo. ‘Keep following him, according to the briefing he will break off and head into the underground parking. That’s when we lose him.’

  Jane turned and looked at him, asking: ‘What then?’

  ‘I have no idea – it just says to wait outside. So
I guess that’s what we should do…’ Mike scoured his digital notes, flicking through the screened pages with his finger. ‘No, that’s it. We just wait outside,’ he said. Then, with a start, whispered: ‘There’s the place – do a left there, by that takeaway!’ He pointed to a yellow and red sign saying: ‘Hot & Spicy Takeaway Heaven’. Jane turned down the narrow street and followed the Navigator’s arrow, her route allowing the rich smell of Eastern spices to ooze into the car as they passed the restaurant.

  The Target icon had stopped blinking now and all she had to do was to follow the Spear’s directions to the parking place opposite McBride’s office. Pulling over, she turned the lights off and watched the windscreen as Mike switched it over to Scanner mode. The interior of the building was illuminated in graphic detail. Hot-spots stood out brilliantly, three security guards on the ground floor stood leaning against the reception counter, hot drinks standing out in perfect clarity. Even the warm water in the building’s central heating system glowed.

  ‘That really is quite something else, isn’t it?’ Jane said, looking at Mike.

  He grinned at her, the dim blue interior of the cab making his teeth stand out in sharp contrast to his darkened face. ‘You should have seen me the first time old George showed me how half of this stuff works, I nearly crapped myself!’ he whispered.

  Ken joined in, saying: ‘This complete scenario is mind-blowing isn’t it? I mean, check that out, you can see the whole build…’ He stopped short and pointed at the screen, whispering: ‘Hold on, McBride’s in his office, look!’

  They turned to watch the fatal events beginning to unfold before their eyes.

  For quite a long while, McBride strode around the office, bending down and collecting things, then stacking the items on his desk. They watched as he fiddled with his computer, its screen flaring with white light on the Spear’s Scanner as the hard drive powered-up. Then, once he had gathered everything, McBride sat down in front of the computer and began to work. With his fingers flashing across the keys, head bent forward and a slight heat haze lifting up from his body, they watched as he furiously tapped away at the keypad.

  After about ten minutes, he sat upright in his chair and began talking again, the outline of his jaw moving rapidly as he spoke to some invisible audience. As there wasn’t anyone else in the room, the onlookers assumed he was still having a rant with himself. The whole thing was totally odd – what on earth was the man doing? Watching in fascination, they saw McBride stretch across the desk, pick something up, and then sit back down in his seat again.

  Reaching up to his face, he paused for a while, and then, to their utter disbelief, the trio saw a blast of warm liquid erupt from the back of his head. It flared briefly on the Scanner and they watched in horror as the hot fluid spattered across the wall and furnishings of his office. McBride slumped lifelessly in his chair, his suicidal action in complete contrast to the calm way in which he had been sitting at his desk for the last twenty minutes.

  ‘What the hell has he done? The stupid idiot has gone and shot himself!’ Ken growled, looking at the other two in disbelief.

  Before they had a chance to say anything else, the scanner blinked unemotionally, all three leaned forward to look. As they stared at its screen, still in shock from the terrible scene they had only just witnessed, they saw two emotionless words appear upon its unblinking blue surface:

  ‘Mission completed.’

  They sat in silence for a while, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Avoiding each other’s eyes, all three allowed themselves to remain motionless whilst the reality of McBride’s act, and their part in it, dawned upon them. The true cost of George’s gift had finally begun to reveal itself.

  Jane ended the sombre moment by leaning forward to push the starter button. Without waiting for any agreement, she said, ‘Let’s go home the normal way for once, shall we? I feel like having a long drive…’ Dropping the handbrake, she pulled away from the kerb and accelerated towards the blue motorway sign that lay shining in the distance.

  14

  A Problem Shared

  Part Two.

  It was the following morning when the Chancellor of the Exchequer received an email from the notorious James McBride. The email was headed ‘My Problem’ and contained a link leading the viewer to a website, a place where important businessmen were able to upload live footage of themselves to be saved and used during international conference calls and the like.

  Within an hour the Chancellor had all the facts about the deceitful financial trap that James McBride had constructed. There was no question it was genuine, the man himself had sat calmly in front of the web-camera and told of what he had done. He explained the papers, the graphs and all the emails, along with dozens of other papers which were piled on the luxurious desk next to him. He spoke to the camera for fifteen minutes, never faltering and very business-like in his manner.

  Once finished, he said, ‘In conclusion, I am guilty of everything they say – therefore, I am returning all the missing funds with interest.’ Looking down at his laptop, he pushed some buttons and then glanced back up to the camera. Taking a deep breath, McBride gave a set of numbers to the lens, saying: ‘You will find all the funds in that particular account, only you may access them – a copy of this link has been sent to Inspector Gregory at Scotland Yard. This is no longer my problem – goodbye!’

  Without faltering, he leaned forward past the lens, before returning into view with a pistol in his hand. Nodding once at his electronic audience, James McBride placed the muzzle of the weapon in his mouth, closed his eyes and pulled the trigger.

  The only things the Police found in his office were the nearly-headless body of the former James McBride, which lay slumped in the chair alongside his laptop, and a stack of papers. The top sheaf of the pile was liberally spattered with some indescribable liquid, as were several of the walls, the water machine and a large portion of the carpet. There was not one single trace of any other person and the front desk had no video evidence of anyone other than him entering or leaving the building. The only anomalies were two patches of static on the security video, and they were no big deal, just a couple of fuzzy green lines blurring the screen.

  McBride’s Mercedes was parked in the basement garage and it, too, was devoid of anything unusual. Their conclusions were unanimous; he was obviously overcome by guilt and had taken the only honourable way out. The lead detective felt no remorse at having such an easy case to solve.

  ***

  Within five weeks, Joseph Johnson, a beautiful, pale-faced boy, was rushed to hospital. A donor had been found, and with the snap of a finger, someone else’s tragedy had been turned into hope for Joe and his troubled parents. The charity had contacted them – all the finances were in place and they were now in a position to proceed at once. The waiting list for heart and lung transplants on the NHS would have seen tiny Joseph dead and buried long before he ever reached the top of the queue.

  His parents were filled with a terrible mixture of emotions: joy at the news, sorrow at the loss of someone else’s child, and dread at the thought of the huge hurdle which their own two-year-old would have to face. They clung to each other in the back of the swaying ambulance. Joseph’s mother held his hand tightly – she would never let him go, never.

  However, their fears were unfounded. Joseph flew through the operation without complication, within days he was trying to get out of bed. His recovery accelerated way past what was expected and he suffered very little rejection whatsoever to the transplant he had received. He also became a firm favourite with the nurses; they were completely smitten by his clear-eyed honesty. The child was truly astonishing and just seemed to view everything in a completely different way to everyone else.

  On the day when Joseph finally left the hospital, the Chief Surgeon, who had come to say goodbye, was standing on the steps above the family as they loaded young Master Joe into the car. Turning to his PA, the surgeon said, ‘That child is something else, isn’t he, Ca
rol? Quite something else – thank God we had the privilege of saving him!’ Taking a last glance at the auburn-headed child, he smiled and raised a hand in farewell.

  Joseph nodded once, and with the calmest of expressions upon his small face, waved a solemn return salute to one of the people who had given him a future. And what a future it would be…

  15

  Goodbye, Mister Peters

  Part One.

  It was on the news the next morning. As they sat, drinking endless cups of hot tea, the TV in the kitchen blurted out its headlines regarding the demise of the by-now-infamous James McBride. The newspaper headlines were being discussed by the morning guest panel: ‘Notorious banker commits suicide, millions in hidden funds returned. Charities rejoice!’ Pictures of McBride from his prior courthouse appearance were rolled again, white teeth gleaming as he smiled for the cameras outside the building.

  Mike stood, picked up the remote and hit the ‘Off’ button. The TV darkened with a slight hiss of static. ‘I dunno about you, but I don’t really want to watch too much more of that,’ he said, sitting back down heavily and lifting his mug from the table. He looked at his friends for a moment, before finding something else of imaginary interest that steered his gaze away.

  Ken had seen Mike like this before and guessed it was just the way his friend was dealing with his inner conflicts. He wasn’t too keen on what McBride had done to himself, either. But there wasn’t a lot they were able to do about it. Mike looked tired and Ken sympathised, it had been gone five in the morning when they had finally rolled onto the drive at the lodge. ‘I just hope the kid gets his transplant,’ he thought, ‘at least then there will have been some sense to all of this.’

  He rose and made his way across to the cupboard. ‘Right, I’m having some toast, it’s no use us sitting here and feeling sorry for ourselves,’ he said. ‘Things move on and we knew what we were getting into. Anyone else fancy a slice or two?’ He delved into the bread bin and then popped a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. Jane and Mike looked at him and then agreed. ‘That’s better, folks,’ Ken said, ‘let’s get another brew and a wedge of toast down our necks, then we’ll all feel a lot better. Trust me, I’m a Doctor…’ He winked at them and they couldn’t help but smile.