Mark Midway Box Set: Mark One, Mark Two, Mark Three, and Mark Four

by John Hindmarsh

  “Don’t mention that guy to me, please. So it’s a problem with Russians?” Harkness asked. “Or is it something to do with the terrorists who shot up your house? Although I must admit, you did a damned good job of fighting them off. Where were you, London?”

  “Donnelly’s team has identified a threat aimed at me, but not who. Yes, we were in London.”

  “That was some weapon you used. Software controlled?”

  “I can’t discuss it; I’d have the US Army on my case. I occasionally work with them, as you may recall.”

  “I understand,” Leary said.

  “Now what’s this story about an intruder?” Harkness asked.

  “I was walking around with an architect, discussing what we needed to rebuild. You know how you get a twitch, sometimes, when someone’s watching you? It was that. Plus some sounds.” He added the latter point to make sure his concerns were more credible. “I thought I’d explore after the architect left. Before I could do that, Donnelly phoned and told me there was a possible threat. So I thought I’d wait until you arrived.”

  “Sensible,” Harkness said.

  “Do you mind coming with me? There’s a utility shed a few hundred yards into the woods that I want to check.”

  “Sure. We’ll come with you and see what’s there.”

  The three men, with Mark leading the way, walked to the rear of where the house used to be. When they reached the narrow path into the woods, he turned and followed it. There were no signs of use, no footprints, and the grass, undisturbed, was tall and hanging down, hiding the trail. Trees, mainly maples and birch, provided shade. They stopped at a small, solidly constructed shed, which was set away from the path and partially hidden from casual passers-by. It was in its own clearing. Three ravens watched from a high dead limb, hopping from branch to branch, as though they were intending to move closer. A wind generator spun its vigorous round and a row of solar panels added to the power supply. The shed door was partially open, the lock broken. Mark pulled on a corner of the door and pulled it open.

  The shed was unoccupied. A sleeping bag had been folded and placed on a small bench. Cans of food and some cooking utensils were stored near a small camp stove. There were electric cables and controls on a side wall. An easel stood against the other wall, and there was an artwork folder nearby, on an old table. He stepped into the shed and checked. The folder was empty—there was no sign of Gabrielle’s drawings.

  He could hear the ravens cawing in the tree above the shed.

  ‘Looks like someone broke in and is camping here,” Leary said, following Mark. Harkness stood at the door. Leary continued, “Whoever it is, they’re undoubtedly hiding somewhere in the woods. Probably the same person who was watching you.”

  “I remember this shed,” Harkness said. “It was set up with hydroponic irrigation. We raided it two—three years ago. There were a couple of young guys who were giving us some trouble. They knew the son of the owners, although we couldn’t prove anyone else was involved. They were using it to grow pot. It was a sophisticated operation. They had their own power for light and heating, and an underground well for irrigation. They grew fifty or more plants, which were about four foot high when we took them out.”

  “This damage and break-in definitely happened after we left for London,” Mark said.

  Harkness groaned. “That’s all I need—another crime on this property. Is anything missing?”

  “Some artwork of our ward’s. Otherwise nothing of commercial value as far as I can tell.” He sent a brief text message to Anna.

  “Okay, we’ll make a note. We could search around and see if we can find the perp. He’s probably well out of sight now he’s heard the siren.”

  “Agreed. I’ll return with some help in a day or so to search the woods. We might be lucky.”

  “Do you want us to treat this as a crime scene? There’s likely to be prints all over the place,” Harkness asked. “We might get lucky.”

  “Would you mind? There’s damage to the door, illegal entry, and trespass. I wouldn’t be bothered normally, but we’ve had too much damage done to this property.”

  “I understand—the house and main sheds are a write-off. Okay, I’ll arrange for a crime scene team to visit. With luck, they’ll be here this afternoon. I’ll radio base when we get back to the car. Leary, I’ll find out if the team is available, and if so, you can return here and keep an eye on the shed until Lieutenant Pierce arrives. I’ll escort Mark to the station, so he can meet up with his security team.”

  “Sure thing.”

  As they returned to the vehicles, Mark was certain he could sense the attention of the hidden watcher. Apprehension was mixed in with the caution he had sensed earlier.

  The three ravens flitted from tree to tree, escorting them out of the wooded area.

  Chapter 4

  Mark followed the police vehicle to the Redmont police station where Harkness signaled for him to park in the official section. They both exited their vehicles and Harkness beckoned.

  “You won’t get a ticket,” the police lieutenant said. “Well if you do, give it to me. You can wait in Leary’s office, if you like. It’s next to mine. Fortunately the chief’s in Boston; otherwise, he’d want to know who you are. Not sure the Midway name would excite him in the right way.”

  “Whoa. I’m not one of your—ah—clients. I’ve been raided, my property shot up and burnt out, and now have an intruder apparently damaging a shed and trespassing. Also, some personal property is missing.”

  “Yeah, but he loved that MRAP. I know, I know. We don’t encounter that many mine-based ambushes around here and it was totally unsuitable for a small town. Anyway, if we can help with your intruder, we’ll do so. Oh, I’ll carry your Glock. I’ll return it when you leave. We’ve a metal detector for visitors, and it’d be best if you go through without causing any alarms.”

  Mark settled into the small office, using one of the visitor’s chairs. He sent another text message to Anna, letting her know where he was. He tried to get comfortable on the chair, which seemed to have springs in the wrong places. After an hour, Mark was bored with re-reading a year old copy of Hunter & Shooter and had no interest in the police magazines on Leary’s desk. As he stood up to stretch, Harkness entered the office.

  “There are people here for you. I assume they’re your security, but we’d better check.”

  Mark stifled a yawn. “I agree. Is there somewhere we can meet with them?”

  “I’ve commandeered an interview room. They’re waiting for us. Two of them. They look as though they might be ex-military.”

  Two men were waiting in the interview room; one was seated at a table and the other was pacing. Mark did not recognize either one. Harkness kept back as Mark stepped forward.

  “I’m Midway.” He used his cell phone to take a photograph of each man. “Let me send these images.” He addressed a message to Maeve and attached the two jpeg files. His note was simple, seeking confirmation of the identity of each of the two men. He expected a reply within minutes. He looked at both men. “Do you have IDs?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the man seated at the table. He stood. “I’m Andrew Reeves and this is Tomas Strong. Please call me Drew. We’re both members of Winter Security. Brian said to convey his greetings. I understand you advised Paul Kelly when Brian installed his security system.” Each man handed over identification documents to Mark.

  Mark looked at each driver’s license photo and at the men who would escort him back to Boston. The faces and photos matched. “Tell me more.”

  “Yes, sir. We’re both ex-military. Iraq. Served with Dempsey, whom you knew, I believe. We’ve been with Brian for three years. We have another three men waiting with two vehicles. I’ll drive back with you in your SUV, and the other vehicles will provide escort. Our task is to get you back to Boston in one piece—alive.”

  Mark checked his messages. Maeve had replied to his message with a simple ‘Yes.’ He handed back the identificati
on documents. “Very well. I’ve received confirmation. I’m ready to go. Lieutenant Harkness, I appreciate your courtesy.”

  “Our crime team should have some details within a day. I’ll call you.”

  Harkness escorted them out of the building and once outside he returned Mark’s Glock. The police officer checked Mark’s vehicle while Reeves retrieved some gear from one of the escort vehicles.

  “It’s clear, no tickets,” Harkness said. “Safe journey.”

  “Thank you.” Mark said.

  Harkness returned to the police station.

  Mark opened the driver-side door of his vehicle, ready to drive to Boston. Reeves intercepted him.

  “I’ll drive, sir,” Reeves said. He was in the process of installing forward and rearward facing video cameras with wireless links back to their base. “I know how our team works, if we need to take counter-measures.”

  Mark handed over his keys. “I don’t mind, at all.”

  When they headed out of Redmont, Mark made a phone call. “Anna? Yes. We’re on our way back. I’m with Winter’s escort. Tell the children there was no trace of Gabrielle’s artwork.”

  Anna said, “I’m relieved you have security. Gabrielle will recover, I’m sure.”

  After they completed their conversation, Mark messaged Maeve that he was on the way back to Boston. He sat back and tried to ignore the questions surrounding the intruder he had sensed.

  ###

  Mark was jarred out of his relaxed state by the sudden swerve of the vehicle and his driver’s curse. There was a major confusion of vehicles about a hundred yards in front, which they quickly overtook. He looked back; an SUV had slid sideways towards the edge of the road, some yards before the emergency lane. He was unable to discern details. They were on the Northern Expressway, heading south towards Boston, into a splatter of raindrops from the storm he had seen earlier.

  “What’s up?”

  Drew said, “Our front escort was taken out. I think someone dropped a concrete cinder block on the vehicle, from the Chandler Road Bridge—the one we just went under.”

  “Check your other vehicle.”

  The driver reached for his radio handset; he’d installed the radio in Mark’s vehicle before departing the police station. “Tomas, did you see that?”

  “Sure thing, boss. It was nasty. Mike slid off, missed everyone, fortunately. I couldn’t see him when I passed. He’s not answering the radio. I’ve called 911 and reported an accident.”

  “We need to be careful from here; the traffic volume’s getting lighter.”

  “They’ll probably try something after the 495 intersection. There’s swamp and forest on either side; it restricts the public view.”

  “Okay. Let’s go to high speed. We’ll call the state troopers and let them know we’re under attack. Keep an eye open for anyone matching our speed.” The SUV was accelerating before Drew had finished speaking.

  “Make sure you’re strapped in,” he directed Mark. “Call 911 for me. Tell them it’s Winter Security, and we have an emergency. Ask for Desk 301 and say it’s Code 25.”

  Mark used his phone to make the call. It was connected to the SUV’s cell phone system and was on speaker. The 911 operator patched his call through to another responder without hesitation or question.

  “Desk 301. Sergeant Trevors.”

  “Code 25. Winter Security, providing security for a client. I’m the client. We’re heading south on the Northern Expressway, approaching the 495 junction. One of our escorts has been taken out, we suspect by a cinder block dropped from the Chandler Road Bridge.” Mark completed the details, uninterrupted. He concluded, “Traffic is light. Our two vehicles are traveling at speeds of 90 to 100 mph. We’re in a dark blue Touareg—Volkswagen—and our second vehicle is a red Expedition. Can we have police assistance?”

  “One moment, sir.”

  The officer came back online after a short interval. “Yes, sir. We can arrange vehicles to meet you.”

  Mark could hear Tomas’s voice but did not absorb his message. Drew said, “Tell them there are two, possibly three, chase vehicles.”

  “My driver advises there are two or three chase vehicles.” He relayed the details provided by Drew.

  “We have troopers approximately eight miles in front of you. Three marked vehicles. They will wait for your arrival. Two will intercept the chase vehicles, and the third trooper will escort you. Please do not disconnect this call.”

  “Drew, can we hold out for eight miles?”

  “Sure. I think. Contact Tomas, see what he says.”

  “Officer, I need to contact the other driver.”

  “Yessir.”

  Mark used the radio. “Tomas, we’ll have troopers to assist in about five minutes. Can you cope with the vehicles chasing you?”

  “One tried to side swipe me. He’s an imbécil—his little car can’t stand up to mine.” There were noises; they sounded like shots. “¡Qué chinga! They’re shooting at my tires. This is hot.” There were some louder, closer, shots. Tomas came back, “We’ve discouraged them for the moment.”

  Mark spoke to the police sergeant. “They tried to crash our escort vehicle. They fired shots at it and at the occupants. Please communicate to your troopers that this is a dangerous situation.”

  “Yes sir. Please turn on your hazard lights.”

  “Drew, hazard lights.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tomas, please turn on your hazard lights. We’re getting close.”

  “Sure thing. This cabrón is going to try again, that’s for sure.”

  “Hang on.” Mark hoped that was possible.

  “You should be within a mile or two, now,” advised Trevors.

  “Drew, a vehicle got past while I was defending. It’s close to you—” Shots interrupted whatever Tomas wanted to add and the radio fell silent.

  Drew cursed.

  Mark caught a glimpse of a black sedan, a BMW, approaching the driver’s side of their vehicle. He glanced to his right and saw a second black BMW approaching. A passenger in the second vehicle had opened the rear window and was leveling a weapon in the Touareg’s general direction. He thought the gunman was aiming at their tires.

  Drew cursed again.

  “I’ve lost control. They’ve taken over the electronics—no steering, nothing.” He hit the steering wheel with both hands. He was struggling to regain control.

  The gunman on the right fired a burst from his weapon. A ricochet scorched a streak of pain across the back of Mark’s hand. His anger grew; he had been shot at too many times. He dropped the cell phone. He aimed and fired his Glock: two shots at the passenger trying to shoot out their tires and two at the driver. The BMW slid sideways; it was as though it had hit an unseen barrier. He saw it roll off the roadway as it receded in the distance.

  He turned his attention to Drew, who was fighting the Touareg’s refusal to respond. The people following them were maintaining at least partial control of the Volkswagen.

  Drew said, “They keep switching their penetration. It seems random—loss of brakes, next was power steering, followed by accelerator. I’ve managed to select neutral and now all I can do is try to come to a stop, hopefully, without hitting anything.”

  “There are blue lights ahead. See if you can get to the troopers.”

  “Our pursuers also can see them; that might give them second thoughts.” Mark reached for his phone. “You still there?” he asked.

  “Sure. It sounds as though you’re experiencing a rocky ride.”

  “Let the troopers know we’re being attacked electronically. We’ve eliminated another vehicle, as far as I can determine.”

  Chapter 5

  She was young, about twelve years old, and wore jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a light jacket, all of which needed drastic laundry intervention. Her sneakers were once bright red and now the color was uncertain and the shoes were worn and scuffed. Her hair, blond, was long and tied into a mix of plaits and pigtails in a juvenile
attempt to disguise her need of a sympathetic hairdresser and a serious shampoo. Her baseball cap did not adequately cover the mixed style. Her face was rubbed streaky clean and two or three freckles spotted each cheek. As the driver eased his old truck to a halt she smiled her thanks and pushed on the door handle. It and the hinges squeaked in unison as the door creaked open.

  “Are you going to be all right?” The driver of the truck, an old farmer, frowned his concern.

  “Yes, sir. My mom will meet me here. Thank you for the lift.”

  “Well, if you’re certain?” There was something odd about a young girl walking along a road by herself. These days—for some reason he did not continue that thread of thought. He watched the girl clamber down to the road, dragging her empty backpack. “Now, you know my name and have my phone number, so if you and your mom ever need some assistance, give me a call.”

  “Yes, sir.” She used all her weight to push the truck door closed. The window glass rattled and slipped down half an inch.

  The driver nodded and shifted into first gear. The truck shuddered as he released the clutch and slowly moved back into the traffic. It lurched as he changed up through the gears to match the speed of the other vehicles. A small suggestion, one of those added when he had reached out to help the girl board his truck, threw off its dormancy. Within seconds he had forgotten completely about his recent passenger.

  ###

  The girl watched as the farmer and his old truck drove off. He had believed her story, as unrealistic as it was. That did not surprise her; she had added small suggestions when he touched her hand to help her climb up into the cabin of the old farm truck. The first was to ensure her safety. The second was to suspend his disbelief. The third was to ensure the man forgot all about her once she left his vehicle. Her expertise was increasing, contributing to her survival. She swung the empty backpack onto her shoulders and headed towards the small store.

  “Hello, Missy,” The store owned called as she pushed through the swing door. The greeting was genuine. She had been here before, a while back. She did not like repeating her visits too frequently, in case people began to ask questions she was not willing to answer, at least, not truthfully.