He wandered to the sitting room door. She was standing, looking away, hunched over the work surface – she looked so sad. He cleared his throat politely and she jerked around, plastering a false smile onto her face, trying to make it look like she was okay. “Satellite’s gone as well, isn’t it?” he asked gently.
She nodded. “Michael needs lots of things,” she explained.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said. “Turn the kettle off. You can make me that tea when I get back.”
~~~~~
Swansea Railway Station, Wales
I heave the backpack onto the baggage rack, and sit on a nearby seat so I can keep an eye on it. It will take a few hours to get back into London but I’m glad to be sitting down. It was a long walk back to the main road, and a long wait for the irregular bus to arrive and carry me into Swansea. This train is welcome respite from the cold drizzle which continues to stream tiny rivulets over the coach’s darkening windows.
~~~~~
Tidworth
Michael Jnr. was valiantly defending his fortress, sitting safely behind walls which had been rapidly constructed from the forty-six inch plasma’s cardboard packaging. The wobbly defences were busy repelling invaders by way of a stream of soft toys which bounced around Jack as he squatted, facing away, wrestling with the various cables by the cabinet. One of the toys bounced off his head.
“Ouch!” Jack exclaimed, leaping to his feet and spinning around in mock anger.
The youngster dived for cover in his castle, squealing with excitement.
“Who threw that?”
Much giggling came from the other end of the upturned, nappy-padded backside.
“Ssshhh...,” Julie whispered furtively. She was smiling as she looked on from the safe haven of the sofa. “Dominic’ll spot you if you make too much noise.”
“Hmmm...,” said Jack. “Perhaps there’s someone hiding? Maybe in here!” He reached out with a foot and rattled the side of the box, prompting a fresh wave of giggling from his tiny adversary.
Something inside him churned at the sound of the happy noises. That lifelong need for love, for company, for family. It called to him. Begged him.
Mike had been one of the lucky ones. He had found himself a beautiful woman. Made himself a family. Loved them with all his heart. Would have stood by them, through everything. Supported them. Been there to watch his son grow. Been there to play.
He looked at Julie. She had been horrified when he’d reappeared at the door, laden with boxes. “Don’t worry, it’s only a vanilla satellite box,” he’d said. “There’s no subscription, but it’ll pick up the free-to-air channels well enough, and record stuff for you.”
Her eyes had filled with tears. “It’s too much,” she’d blurted, before rushing upstairs to answer the cries which had conveniently started to come from Michael’s bedroom.
That had been an hour ago.
“Okay,” he announced, throwing himself down next to her on the two seater. He could feel her warmth alongside him. “Time to test drive.” He handed her the remotes. “Let’s see if this all works!”
~~~~~
London
He snatched up the handset. “Sentinel,” he said crisply.
“I have an address for Mercury, sir.”
Major Richard Charles raised his eyebrows, swapped the phone to his other hand and reached across the polished walnut desktop to retrieve his errant Montblanc pen. “Good work. That was quick,” he said. “Tell me.”
He wrote for a few seconds onto a single blank sheet of paper.
“And the Sussex location?” He asked.
“Empty, sir,” the male operative at the end of the phone replied. “No sign of activity. The car’s gone too.”
“Are you confident about this?”
“Very. The credit card that was used confirms it.”
“Excellent. Keep an eye on ‘Sussex’ and let me know immediately if Mercury reappears there.”
“Yes, sir.”
He replaced the receiver and looked across his office to the evidence box which was standing on a small, ornate, Edwardian burr-walnut console table on one side of the room’s armoured doorframe. ‘Interesting,’ he thought. The blue and gold star-shaped badge of the Sussex Police was emblazoned on the box’s four corrugated-cardboard sides.
The locals hadn’t put up much of an argument about handing it over.
The box contained a few slim reports and a thicker folio of scene-of-crime photographs. The photos showed a vehicle, with water pouring from every orifice, being hoisted from a reservoir. There were also various shots of two badly rotted corpses; taken before, during and after their autopsies. A second commandeered box, containing sealed bags of potential forensic scraps, personal effects and clothing, was secured in the vault many floors beneath him.
“Deaths caused by high velocity, sharp, penetrative trauma to the heads. Received prior to submersion,” concluded the autopsy report. “Unusual wounds, created by some form of sharpened metal spikes.”
The victims had been identified as a couple of missing gypsies. Male. Strong, fit, and hardened individuals. Men who doubtless knew how to look after themselves.
Other than what was in these boxes, there was little else for the police to go on. The victims’ fellow Travellers were unforthcoming about potential enemies – the conclusion being that there must be several – and the bodies and vehicle were riddled with hundreds of fragments of human and, latterly, aquatic debris – indicating that it was likely that the car had been used communally, and had then been in the water for some time. Local police were still considering whether to follow up on the one weak lead they had been given. It involved a resident of a nearby town, but there were sensitivities attached to the individual concerned, and the vague connection was thin at best.
Sentinel knew that the police would be regarding this case as having all the hallmarks of being long, expensive, and ultimately fruitless. So, against the ever-present backdrop of pressure for improved statistical success and reduced costs, they were probably hoping they’d never get it given back to them.
Well, they might just be in luck.
Major Charles opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a manilla folder. He thumbed through the few pristine sheets until he found the one he was looking for: a photocopy V5C vehicle registration form. Then he picked up his mobile phone.
“Yes, sir,” Greere answered.
It was satisfying to hear that his subordinate still sounded nervous.
“Get over here,” said Sentinel gruffly, and hung up.
~~~~~
Tidworth
“So, have you found someone yet?” She lounged next to him. It was a feeling that he was enjoying; despite the nagging feeling that Mike Snr. might rise from his cold grave and wander in at any moment and catch him. “A hunk like you should have been snatched up by now?” He couldn’t work out if she was teasing, but he suspected that she was. “And besides, you need someone to look after you.”
Jack snorted and nodded ruefully. “There’s no-one special,” he acknowledged. “I admit it’s hard work, but,” he grinned lightheartedly, “there are so many fine ladies hankering after my body, it’d be cruel of me to disappoint any of them.”
She smiled. “Still the dreamer, then?” she observed sarcastically. “Seriously Dominic, I know you always wanted to settle. What’s stopping you? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly turned gay or something?”
He felt himself blushing slightly and frowned at himself. “I’m not gay,” he said pointedly. “I’ve got nothing against gays but I’m a full-on heterosexual. You can ask my girlfriends.”
“Maybe I will,” she was still smiling.
He studied her face. Subtle eyeshadow and a hint of rouge had been applied at some point since he’d first arrived. He hadn’t noticed till now. “I’ve got some unfinished business I need to sort out,” he explained, suddenly serious. “Maybe, when that’s finished, I’ll have more time for a relationship.
..”
She hugged his arm. “You’ve always been a great friend to us,” she murmured. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for the new telly. The kids’ channels will be brilliant for Michael. Are you sure you can afford them? Maybe I can pay you back, over time?”
He shook his head. “No need,” he said. Her face was really close. He could smell her perfume: a delicate scent that accentuated her wholesome womanhood. She was still very beautiful. He had always envied Mike, just a little, for finding and wooing her. He put his arm around her and squeezed her gently to him. The movement pressed her softness against the harder muscles of his chest and he was suddenly aware of how deeply he was breathing.
She turned her face to him and he found himself staring into her eyes.
He moved his face fractionally toward her.
She didn’t pull away.
He moved slightly closer.
This was all wrong. He hadn’t come here for this. He’d only come here to see that she was okay. To check in. He had to get back into Europe, quickly. He wasn’t supposed to be in the UK. This wasn’t what he had planned, but still...
“Julie,” he whispered. “Listen, I’m sorry but I have to go.”
She shook her head gently, and reached up to place one soft hand on the side of his face.
It felt good.
It felt too good.
He only needed to lean forward, just a little more. Her sweet lips were right there.
They could kiss. Just a kiss.
Just a kiss between friends.
It wasn’t betrayal. It wasn’t a betrayal of his best buddy. His best buddy would surely understand, would surely want to see her being looked after by someone who could care and provide for her?
He leaned forward. And pressed his lips delicately – onto her forehead.
“Sorry,” he mumbled and heaved himself up from the sofa.
For just a moment she looked sad, then she smiled and nodded. “Be safe, Dominic,” she said, quietly. “Remember, you’re always welcome here. Don’t leave it so long to come and see us again.”
He smiled back at her, relieved that she didn’t appear to be angry with him. “I will and I won’t,” he inadvertently lied, and she laughed at his riposte. “One last thing,” he said gently. “I’m not strictly supposed to be in England. So I was never here. You understand?”
She nodded, suddenly serious again.
~~~~~
North London
Not for the first time, Ellard wondered about Greere’s psychological wellbeing. “He’s off his head,” he muttered to himself.
Ever since the successive disasters, in Paris and then Berlin, his boss seemed to have become little more than a plaything for Sentinel. Of this he was certain. Why? Because senior level crap always slid downhill and Ellard found himself, as usual, sitting at the bottom of the slippery slope. To say that Greere had been venting his frustrations at him was a major understatement. Now here he was, freezing his arse off, in some sodding residential street, with the cryptic and comprehensively useless instructions to, “Look out for anything suspicious...”
Ellard stared frustratedly out of the windscreen of his dark car. “It’s bloody revenge for all the bollockings, that’s what it is,” he told his misty reflection. Sentinel was clearly just jerking them around to make sure they understood their rightful place in the pecking order, but it had been months since the Berlin fiasco and they were now the only agency able to track Ebrahimi’s progress, southeast, across Europe. Sentinel ought to be pleased with them for that at least.
Feeble orange neon glow pooled down from the streetlights onto the already frosty, vehicle-strewn, street. Like so many urban residential areas at night, the proliferation of parked vehicles left little room for normal traffic.
He knew where he was – one street away from where the UK cell had been busted, last autumn – but he had no idea why.
Greere had looked strangely excited when he’d returned to the office to brief him. “Park up so you can observe the whole street, and particularly one vehicle – a grey Ford Focus. Here’s the registration.” Greere had handed him a sheet of paper. “Keep out of sight. Take no action. Do not pursue, even if the vehicle leaves. You are to stay put and keep watch, all night. Keep me updated.” Brief it had certainly been.
“Why there?” He’d asked, already dispirited at the prospect of spending a cold night sitting in an unheated vehicle, but Greere’s response had only been another tirade of yelling. Ellard had taken this to mean that his boss hadn’t been told either.
He shook his head ruefully in the cold darkness.
Having managed to find a suitable parking space toward one end of the street, he could see the Ford parked about two hundred metres away, on the other side of the road. It looked like it had been there all day. It had certainly been there when he arrived.
In his wing mirror some big bloke appeared from the distant junction, approaching on foot, walking along the opposite footpath. He was wearing a long, dark, heavy, trench coat, a black woollen hat and had a large backpack. The clothes made sense. It was bloody freezing outside.
Ellard leaned across to the passenger seat, grabbed his own beanie and thrust it onto his head. When he sat back up, the man had vanished.
‘Lucky bastard,’ he thought to himself. He wished he was arriving home for dinner too.
~~~~~
I fight the urge to speed up as I get closer. I can’t see anyone else around but I don’t want to risk drawing any attention to myself. ‘Just keep walking. Keep a constant speed,’ I tell myself as I turn the corner. ‘You’re almost there.’
I can see the worm’s car, parked in its usual spot. During my previous visits I’ve noticed that the other residents’ vehicles move around the street on a random basis. I suppose it depends where the free spaces are. But our little friend doesn’t have to go to work, does he? No, he only needs the car in the evenings. And, in the wee small hours, his parking space is almost always still there when he gets back.
Well, at least I know he’s home.
I cut into the back alleyway.
~~~~~
Javed Omid struggled with the button on his trousers. All this easy living was playing havoc with his waistline. He straightened up and checked his hair in the bedroom mirror. Nice. He turned his head from side to side and ran his hand over his smooth, freshly shaved skin.
“What lucky lady will be getting her hands on this later?” he said to his reflection, running the tip of his tongue around the edges of his most becoming leer.
He grabbed his wallet, checked the wad of cash inside, then headed downstairs and into the ramshackle kitchen-dining room at the back.
He’d be glad to get out of this pokey little house. The new apartment would be ready soon. Somewhere much more in keeping with his status. He could entertain there. Dump all the home-help façade. Have some real parties. Maybe even lay on an orgy?
Yeah. A one man orgy.
He shrugged on his heavy jacket, grabbed his keys and slipped out of the back door.
~~~~~
Here he is.
All made up and ready to play.
I watch in silence. My face is charcoal blackened. I’m perfectly still. Tucked into a small alcove in the dark alleyway. I’m just another shadow.
A dark shadow, with eyes.
An unseen observer.
He turns away from the garden gate and waddles off, picking his way between the muddy puddles. From the look of his flabby face it looks like he’s still putting on weight.
Not for much longer.
I palm the readied switchblade into my other hand, carefully close the blade on the ground next to me, reach inside my coat and place it back into its holster. Then I slip out of my hiding place, gently lift my pack onto my back and wait, keeping to one side, as I study the distant narrow slot of street-lit roadway.
After a few moments his car flashes past.
He’s gone.
I slip quietly into his g
arden and then along the narrow concrete footpath to the back of the house.
The house is dark.
No-one home.
I pull a small torch from my pocket and, cupping its light against the grimy glass of the dining room window, peer inside for a few moments. Good. It’s a shame there’s no fireplace but the skirting looks original and should be solid enough for my purposes. I tuck the torch away again.
The kitchen doorframe betrays that the door opens inwards, as expected. It looks new – probably replaced after the arrests. I’ll need a clean straight line, but there’s no cover for me here in the garden. It’s a boring blank rectangle of weeds and grass punctuated only by the solitary path.
The alleyway remains the best option.
I feel a fine, almost frozen, drizzle beginning to speckle my face. It’s going to be a cold wait but I have brought a supply of air-activated heat pads to use inside my coat. They should be enough to stop me freezing solid.
It’s a shame I can’t say the same about my frosted soul.
~~~~~
Ellard swirled his thermos flask as he tried to put off pouring himself another drink of coffee. If he wasn’t careful he’d be running out. Or needing to go and relieve himself.
He was bored.
The car had been gone for hours. Its space stood empty: as full of nothing as Ellard’s evening had been. He’d been moderately interested to see Javed Omid scuttle out of nowhere – presumably from some alleyway between the streets – and across to the vehicle. For an invalid, he had looked remarkably mobile.
Since then, nothing.
Nothing to do except watch the frost teasing upwards from the corners of his windscreen. His little twelve-volt heater and meagre body heat were just about keeping the glass clear. Whilst it was a small risk having the plug-in heater running, he felt confident that no-one round here would be observant enough to notice that one vehicle wasn’t icing over...
Headlights appeared, turning into the road ahead, and he slid himself down in the driver’s seat so that he could just see over the dashboard. The approaching car slowed to a stop and then attempted to back itself into the empty space. It turned too steeply, bounced up onto the pavement and jerked forwards again.
Thunder Page 13
