Backlash

by Jack L. Pyke

  Gray didn’t answer. Martin wasn’t really interested in one.

  “Handy for people littering Potters Field Park, though. Bet that fucks with the Mayor and all those porno photo opportunities he does there... him having to come down and mingle with the local wild life and their eating habits.” He looked at Gray. “The Mayor is still male, ain’t he?”

  Gray shifted gear as he bypassed Albany Road.

  “No matter, I suppose. There are enough assholes playing with politics for me to really give a shit.”

  Gray felt a shift in his direction.

  “So what were your Christmas plans with Jack and his younger bit of fluff? You have to order a new king size bed, now company got... interesting? I mean, how does that work out, three guys in the bed? Who gets the middle? What happens if he needs a slash in the middle of the night? Does he go worm and wriggle out the bottom, or is it just a good excuse to get his leg over one of the other two and fuck an extra length up there before he does get to the bathroom?”

  Gray counted the yards past Shorncliffe Road.

  “Which way does the middle guy sleep? I mean, turn left he’s met with an asshole, turn right, same again. Do you all avoid curry just in case you choke him on... natural gas? It’s not like he can waft the covers and turn the other cheek, right?”

  The pressure on the brake came hard, making sure Martin grunted from the seatbelt choking his chest. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Just asking.” But the grin was there as Gray pulled the Merc to a stop in a space opposite the Michael’s garage. Andrews followed somewhere, but was professional enough to stay more covert.

  “What do you remember about the night here?” Gray nodded at the garage.

  Martin shifted forward to get a better look. “Being night and all, it was dark.”

  Gray looked across at him and Martin sighed. “Had a lot of fun with Mase behind those main shutters there.” Painted yellow with a blue frame, the roller doors looked wide enough to home four cars, tops. The office sat to the left, but if it was anything like Jack’s, there’d be space out back for locker room, dining area, restroom, not to mention office space on the second floor.

  “Would have had some fun with his dad too, but rape ain’t my thing. Better if you can get them to ask for the blade. Makes for more... memorable playtime.” He was back looking at Gray. “Did you know Mase’s dad didn’t know Mase was gay? Okay, he didn’t know his son was a thieving little shit who fucked up over the basics of getting some bloody keys to Jack.” A wink. “But he didn’t know his son was gay until I fucked him in front of him.”

  “After that.” Gray already knew this.

  Martin fell quiet. “I left them there,” he said eventually. Then he went quiet for a moment, tilting his ear as if he caught something. “On the way out there was a noise behind me.” He frowned. “I thought it was Mase deciding to try his luck when I’d told him to stay down.”

  “What did you hear?”

  Martin’s gaze ran over the garage and he settled on a top window. “I need to be up there to find out.” He sniffed. “And I’d really like these cuffs off now because there’s someone else up there already.”

  Gray had caught the shift of shadow by the window too. It wouldn’t be surprising; the garage was open and working, probably with some of the mechanics on their dinner hour. That meant the owner would be up on the second floor, no doubt taking time out. Only the shadow lingered by the window, one hand resting on the frame, bringing its own... provocation.

  Gray looked at Martin, then got out and went around to his side of the car. Keeping watch on the window on the second floor, Gray held the door open and tugged Martin out. Cuffs came off next after he made Martin face the car, and the memory was there, of Jack... of Jack gaining permission from the MC to go back to sub duty after his slight concussion, before all of the rape and torture. In the darkness of the car park, Jack had eased against the Merc, hands behind head, legs apart, full and silent submission there in the...

  Gray pushed away from Martin, pulling him over the road, towards the garage. Martin didn’t need much leading, and after a moment, he tugged away from Gray’s grip on his arm and made his way in.

  Chapter 38

  Provocateurs

  A woman in her fifties, wearing green coveralls, was handing over a set of keys to a customer as they entered reception. Gray waited for the man to leave, then took out his MI5 identification. “Would it be possible to speak to the manager?”

  She leaned a little closer, eyes narrowing over the counter. “Speaking. What can I do for you gents?”

  “I’d like to gain access to a room on your upper floor. Would that be possible?”

  “Sure.” She glanced back into her workshop, where her technicians worked. His rank or position wasn’t given, and that only added to the worry. “Can I ask why?”

  “Observation of an external building, nothing more.” He didn’t need her worrying, or dragging technicians out onto the street. “Is the room above here empty?”

  She glanced up. “It’s an extra storeroom for parts.”

  “Excellent. Thank you. Are all technicians downstairs?”

  “Some are out back, having dinner.”

  “No staff up there?”

  “Not in the past hour, no. It’s just a small business. I’m all I need.”

  “And you’ve had no one else up there? No deliveries?”

  “None.” She glanced at Martin, who stared back at her. Her gaze didn’t stay on his long, although it did shift back once or twice, each glance never looking quite as easy as the last.

  “Okay.” He put his ID away. “We’ll be about an hour. I’ll let you know if we need longer. But can you make sure we’re not disturbed? No one is to come upstairs unless they carry official ID.”

  “I’ll take my break in the back room.” She pointed to a door. “I’ll be through there if you need me. Can you let me know when you’re done?”

  “Of course,” said Gray, moving over to a door that would no doubt lead to the stairs. He went through first, making sure it was shut behind Martin before withdrawing his sidearm. He’d have to put Martin behind him, but as grey eyes were focused on what was upstairs, it was the lesser risk at the moment.

  He took the stairs, then eased open the first door he came to. A quick check found a bathroom, the manager’s bag left on the floor under the basin. No window was open. A quick check saw Martin lean against the wall and bite at a nail.

  “Hate to point out the obvious, Welsh, but they’re not gonna kill anyone until they get their info.” He went to head into the room closest to him, but Gray stopped him with a shake of head.

  He checked the next door, the manager’s office, and found that hosting a party to no one but ghosts. The window there was locked too. A glance up saw an access point to the roof, but the ladder was up, a layer of dust to the rungs saying it hadn’t been used in a while. A fire exit lay ahead, but the bolt across it hadn’t been disturbed either. Yes, it was obvious a move wouldn’t be made until any intel was given, but he liked to narrow the field down and gauge just how many people he was up against and what their access points would be.

  At the moment, that just left the room Martin had entered.

  Martin was already there, but he’d paused, now running his hand over the handle. He snorted a smile. “Warm for such a cold September day.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Recent. Five minutes. Whoever was in there closed the door behind them when they left.”

  Which meant keeping a close watch by the door for anyone who had the mind to want to gain access again. Gray didn’t take any chances with the room being empty; the door was pushed open and a few glances to check the immediate line of sight had him comfortable with slipping inside.

  Car parts were tagged on shelves, with boxes stacked here and there. A table acted as a stock checkpoint, and the full size of the storeroom was used to the brim in an ordered-chaos way. It left little room to hide; even the shadows seemed to be tagged and placed in
a specific position so as not to waste space.

  Again, the windows that spread across the width of the storeroom were closed and looking happy to sleep around with the layers of undisturbed dust.

  “Whoever he is,” whispered Martin by his ear, “he’s good, huh?” A run of hand came under Gray’s jacket. “That get you in the mood to fuck hard?” His body pressed in close and Gray caught the heat not only in the heavy breath, but in the hardness digging into his thigh.

  He passed Gray a moment later and headed on over to the desk. Gray glanced behind, back to the hall, but stayed where he was as he focused back on Martin. Head tilted slightly, Martin ran a light finger touch over the tabletop.

  “A woman was in here back then. Only she didn’t look like she wanted to be here. Two men kept her company and...” He smiled. “Look at that.” Martin plucked something from the table and held it up into the afternoon light that split the room into half darkness, half dust. “A very carefully placed notepad. Pen right next to it, just as it was back then.” He glanced back. “Only the desk wasn’t here; it was over by the woman who’d been smacked about, by—oh.”

  He turned a slow circle, hands held up as he held the notepad. Looking down at his chest, he gave a cold chuckle. “Christmas came early, and guess who gets to be the fucking Christmas tree with all the bastard lights?”

  Four red sniper lasers danced on his black T-shirt, starting at the front, then marking his back as he turned. A fifth marked the back of his head, but the sixth jolted him to a stop as a warning shot hit the floor at his feet, shattering the glass with a bullet hole through the window. The angle of laser light put four snipers over on the opposite building. The warning shot more in the direction of the flats, higher up. The head shot?

  “He’s got friends,” said Martin. “See, that’s what happens when people like you, Welsh.” He went to lower his arms but the next shot that came had him cry out as it grazed his upper arm.

  “Fuh-ucker. Oh please... please tell me you brought some fucking friends like that too.” One arm was kept raised, the other now gripping at the slight trail of blood. Gray could see the window, the line of flats outside, and if he could see that, then he could be seen too. It’s why the desk had been moved from the position that Martin remembered. They needed it by the windows.

  Holding a hand up, he eased his gun down to the floor.

  As he did, he heard the door open back down the stairs and the sound of footfalls on hard carpet came. Gray frowned, tilting his ear. The sound of an air gun undoing wheel bolts could be heard from the shop floor downstairs, which suggested work hadn’t been disturbed, and if work hadn’t been disturbed, and the newcomer had been allowed upstairs—

  “Oh.... One of yours?” Martin raised a brow, quirking a smile. “Jeez, you really don’t make any friends, do you?”

  Gray kept his ear turned. He hand-picked those closest to him, trusted them with his soul. This wasn’t one of his. As the man came into the light of the doorway, Gray knew it wasn’t one of his.

  “Please.” The man held his hand out, indicating for Gray to enter into the storeroom. “Mr Raoul.”

  No accent came, yet the darker tan suggested that there should be one. A good fifteen years separated them, with Gray being the younger, yet the softly spoken tone suggested good schooling. Gray wore a suit, this man jeans, T-shirt, and plain looking jacket. The dust on the tips of his trainers suggested he’d been up here, perhaps moving the table. Knuckles were scuffed, so he was used to getting dirty with his hands. He didn’t carry a weapon now, or none that Gray could discern. He’d sidestepped Gray’s, too, as he went over to Martin. Hair could have been discoloured, eyes too for that matter, so Gray didn’t bother with those details, but the way he stood hadn’t lost a military precision.

  “You’re a... a fascinating man to watch, Mr Raoul.” He half-circled Martin, not once crossing the sniper lasers, and Gray frowned at the slight stutter. “Interesting company.”

  Kes. He tipped his head over at Gray and Gray measured the distance between him and his own gun.

  Martin was taken with Kes, and followed his every move. “You want me to take a twirl, lift my skirt up so you can see my frilly knickers?”

  Giving a smile, Kes looked over at Gray. “And I wuh-would so much love to know who gets your attention so com-completely on the other end of those four vibrations of your phone.”

  “Fuck me,” said Martin. “That’s some st-st-stutter you got there, Bill. Bet the women love you. All sex and no tuh-tuh-talk. Is that what the notepad and pen is really for? You’d like me to take a few notes, translate? Maybe dabble in a little Makaton? Charades?”

  “I recommend you keep still, Mr Harrison.” Gray caught Kes’s raise of hand to the window the same instant Martin moved. “Mr Raoul knows this game, yuh-yuh—”

  “You?” said Martin. “You might need to fiddle with the old hearing aid there, mate.” He even turned a few air tuning dials. “Although the rapper impressions are damn funny, yuh-yuh-you.” Gray nearly snorted. Martin was testing breaking points.

  “Yes, thank you, Mr Harrison.” Kes indicated to the table. “Put the notepad back as it originally was when you suh-suh—”

  “Saw it? Oh for...” Martin tossed the notepad on the table, then, flicking a look at Gray, eased himself up to sit down.

  “Not smart, Mr Harrison.” A little more exasperated now. “I suggest you don’t move again without my say-so.”

  Martin sat poking at his wound. “Call me Martin, please. You’ve already seen Jack naked and fucked over.” He looked up. “I feel so... intimate with you already. You get hard watching?” As he spoke, Martin shifted the notepad into position without looking. “But considering we’re playing memory association here, I just remembered something.” He held his hands out. “You weren’t here that day, but I was sitting right fucking here on the desk when I met your bosses other hired help. I mean, you are just the hired help, right? Someone is paying you for this?”

  Kes went to the side of the desk, the notepad gaining his attention. “I was hired to help recently, yes.”

  Sniper light played on Martin’s forehead now, he shifted his head up slightly and let the light fall on his lips. “You like the way Jack groans on those videos, Bill?”

  “I loved his silence.” A hand reached to stroke down Martin’s hair, and Gray evened his breathing as Martin pulled away. Kes followed Martin’s shift of head like a flock of birds chasing air currents, and a strand of Martin’s long black hair was played between thumb and forefinger. Loving the attention, Martin ran his tongue along the length of thumb that played his hair.

  “I could keep you, Mr Harrison.”

  Martin gave such a wicked grin. “I very much doubt it. See, I’d get you between the sheets, then that pet you’ve kept since a kid? I’d let it fuck you, stick so much dog food up your ass it would tear you apart with its dick, then its teeth just to burn out both hungers. Then I’d give you the gentlest kiss: you and the dog, lick every ounce of your filthy cross-blood off its teeth.”

  Another lick came at the man’s thumb. “So.... Still in the mood to try and keep me? I’m sure Welsh there would love a breather for a few minutes. Because take away those fucking snipers, it’s all I’d need to tear you open.”

  Kes eased his touch away like he’d touched all that was wrong in the world.

  “Curious,” said Martin, all lightness back in his voice now. “You’re fully out of the closet?” He looked at Gray. “Touched me in sight of those assholes wanting to put a bullet in my head. Makes him what?” He shrugged. “Highly doubtful he has ties to religious terrorism, hell, they’d boil his balls for being gay. Added to the darker skin tone... he comes from a country where gay rights are legalised.” Martin winced, then widened his eyes a touch. “Oh... you said was recently hired to help. I missed the past tense back there and the double-cross. Whatever you find out today, it’s not going back to those who ‘recently’ paid you to fuck us over.”

 
Kes smiled at Gray. “Beautiful mind. Such a shame it’s divided.”

  “So not religious terrorism, but after codes pertaining to a partial list of what again?” Martin seemed to struggle.

  “Historic MI6 Ops,” said Gray.

  “Oh fuck yes.” He looked Kes over. “Skin tone, country where gay rights are upheld, not tied to religious terrorism but after intelligence ops. You’re Israeli... but, and a huge fucking but here, an Israeli who’s able to walk in off the street and come in here under official ID....” He winced at Gray. “Mossad intelligence. Of course he’d have official ID; he’s no doubt here with the full grace of Her Majesty’s Government. Or MI6, who are probably the real people behind Her Majesty’s shit anyway.” Martin looked disappointed as he glanced at Gray. “And who at Thames House whispered in his ear about you?”

  Kes was invited intelligence; he could have gained access to anything on that invite if he had the aptitude. Gray had also met the Interpol agent, which by default shifted Kes in Mossad’s direction. Mossad made up one third on the Israeli Intelligence Community, and had kept close ties with both MI5 and MI6 after the London 7/7 bombings. Gray had worked alongside Mossad intelligence then. Anger settled in, how so much ground had been fused between intelligence communities and how—

  “Aww, you can’t touch him here, Welsh. Not on English soil.” Martin grinned over, then looked at Kes. “And doesn’t Kes know it. Not so much as diplomatic immunity, but certainly enough to cause a shit storm if he’s killed over here by an MI5... what now? How far up the ranks are you now, Gray?”

  “Director of G-branch,” said Kes, ignoring Martin’s whistle, and instead tapping the notepad. “There are two missing MI6 code names to that list. One is of-of no relevance. The other, he was a double agent for Interpol, then turned traitor. He has information on several Mossad agents.”

  Gray smiled down, just briefly. “And with two previous agents from that list already taken out for the same thing, here was me thinking Kidon was just a piece of fiction.”