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

by John Hindmarsh

  “Hi, Mr. Mason.”

  “Shopping for your mom, again?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s not feeling well. I know what to get.”

  “Good. I’ll look after you when you’re ready.”

  She put her backpack into a shopping cart walked along the modest aisles, looking for supplies. She avoided candies, foodstuffs with high sugar content, and crackers. With one exception; she selected a small packet of crackers; her feathered friends always expected a treat. She ignored frozen food unless it was something she could eat within a day or two. Packets of pasta, some sauces, cans—she had a can opener, although sometimes it was a struggle to use, fresh vegetables and a box of protein bars. Soon her backpack was full; at least, as full as she could manage. She pushed her cart around the other aisles, observing, listening to whispers, low conversations, and snippets of thought. At last she pushed the cart to the checkout where the storekeeper was waiting.

  She watched and waited while Mr. Mason keyed her purchases into his register and repacked her backpack.

  “Did you hear anything I need to know?” the shopkeeper asked.

  “There’re two men in the far row—I think they’re planning to rob you. One of them has a handgun. Nothing else.” She kept her voice low; fortunately there were no customers within hearing. On her last visit she had discovered one of the store employees was skimming money from a cash register amounting to fifty to a hundred dollars each day. She thought that revelation balanced her own skimming and Mason did not express any disagreement.

  The storekeeper did not change his expression. He had a shotgun under his station, and two of his storemen were ex-police, retired and working part time. They would come to his assistance as soon as he signaled. He picked up the phone that connected to the store’s PA system.

  “Thirty-one to Delivery. Thirty-one to Delivery.” He replaced the handset. The coded message would alert his team. Mason looked at the register slip.

  “I’ll keep this for your mom, all right?”

  “Yes, sir. She should be better in a few days.”

  Mason nodded. There was something he needed to say, but the thought was too elusive. He helped the little girl shoulder her now loaded backpack. As their hands touched, a gentle reinforcement flowed from the girl to the storekeeper. In three or four days he would tear up the unpaid register slip and would welcome her when she next visited.

  She struggled under the load and headed out of the store to the bus stop, a distance of only a hundred or so yards. A small bus, part of a regional service, was scheduled to depart in twenty minutes and she planned to be on board. She did not want to spend time in the small town where people could ask unnecessary questions. She had enough money for the fare, at least, for a short journey, and the bus driver never questioned how far she traveled once she boarded his bus.

  ###

  The girl halted her quiet progress along the overgrown track, suddenly extra cautious. Her backpack was heavy, and its weight was an obvious struggle for her. She was worried she had too much to carry. She had only walked a short distance from the road near the locked shed and still had a long way to go along the narrow path through the trees. Perhaps she should make more than one trip. She decided to hide half her purchases and return for them later.

  She explored the trees off the path and found one that she thought would provide shelter from the rain if the storm came. It was far enough into the woods to be safe from casual inspection. She unpacked a good half of her backpack, stacking the items against the tree trunk and covering them with leaves. No one, she was confident, would find her cache. She returned to the path, her pack now much easier to carry.

  A raven landed in front of her, out of arm’s reach. It hopped towards her, its head on one side. She smiled. She patted her pockets, found what she was seeking, and brought out a small handful of crackers. She dropped three in front of the raven, which was now peering at her, its expression unfathomable. It hopped forward and pecked at one of the treats. A second raven landed beside the first one, and dropped something bright and shiny from its beak. It retrieved the object, hopped forward, and dropped it again. A third raven watched from a branch above her head.

  She eased the backpack off her shoulders and set it on the ground, relieved at the excuse to stop awhile. She stepped a pace forward, towards the two birds on the ground. They stilled, watching her with heads to one side, their eyes bright, intent. The second raven hopped sideways, towards one of the crackers, leaving the shining object on the grass. It was a key, a brass key. She wondered where the bird had found it. She put it in her pocket.

  The third raven flew down to claim his cracker. Its comical hops and quizzical expression made her laugh, the sound quickly hushed—there could be anyone in these woods. She gave the ravens another cracker each, silently enjoying their antics as they fed.

  The backpack, even half-empty, seemed to be heavier, she was certain. She struggled with the shoulder straps and untwisted one that was trying to dig its way into her skin. She set off again along the path. The ravens, their snack completed, flew above her head and landed in the low branches of a tree less than ten yards ahead. It seemed to her that they were having a conversation. The three birds flew down to land on the path in front of her, cawing, tentatively blocking her progress. She stopped, wondering what they were trying to communicate. One flew back behind her in the direction she had come. She turned to watch the bird as it hopped back along the path. The other two ravens flew back and joined the first one. They all hopped in the same direction. Well, she thought, that’s a clear message.

  The girl walked back along the path to where she had hidden half her load of groceries. She bent down to avoid low branches and headed to the tree she had found earlier. She removed her backpack and placed it on the side of the tree away from the path. She covered it, too, with leaves, camouflaging its appearance. She checked her handiwork, and satisfied, made her way back to the path.

  She sat beside the path and thought for a minute or two, watching as the ravens watched her. They had no opinion to offer, she decided, so she would make up her own mind. She gave the birds another cracker each and when they finished their snack, she headed up the path in the direction of the shed she was using as her home. As she approached what she thought of as her shed, she slowed, moving quietly from tree to tree, avoiding the path. Leaves crackled underfoot and she slowed even more. She came up to her shed from the rear and slowly walked around to the front where it faced the path.

  To her alarm, someone had broken the lock on the door. A person stood further away, closer to the house ruins. She thought he looked like a policeman; at least, he wore a uniform. He was facing away. She didn’t want to be found by the police; it was far too risky. She had used her abilities to steal things, mainly food to survive. They would send her to prison. She crept slowly back to the rear of the shed. The ravens seemed to be ignoring her activities. They did not appear to be alarmed so she lifted a loose board and dropped down a makeshift panel that someone, perhaps the owner of the shed, had put in place as an emergency exit. She lifted herself up and slid into the narrow opening.

  Rays of light filtered through the panel opening and through other gaps and narrow slits in the walls. She waited. When her eyes adjusted to the dimmer light, she checked her small collection of clothing, her sleeping bag, and utensils. To her relief, nothing was missing. She gathered everything up into a makeshift bundle and returned to the panel opening. She pushed her bundle through and quickly followed, dropping onto the grass at the rear of her shed. She closed the panel and pulled down the loose board.

  Again, she wondered what her next steps should be. The ravens were silent, watching from the high branches of a nearby tree. The key presented to her by the ravens might unlock the shed near the road. She would check; it would not take her long. If it worked, and the shed looked suitable, she would move her possessions there. Alternatively, she would camp out, hiding in the woods for a few days until she was sure no one w
as tracking her. She had to stay away from the path; otherwise the policeman would find her. She headed into the trees with her bundle of possessions.

  Chapter 6

  For some reason, the road was free of vehicles apart from the one following them. Mark looked back to check, twice. Drew caught his concern.

  “Someone, police or thugs, have blocked the road, stopping anyone from getting in the way. Another mile, then we should be safe,” Drew said.

  The blue lights ahead were blocking the roadway. The black BMW still trailed them and Mark wondered at the driver’s intention. The presence of the police should have deterred his pursuit. Perhaps he planned to bluff his way past the blockade. Their SUV began to slow.

  “Are you in control?”

  “Not yet—the BMW guys are still hacking us.”

  The SUV braked sharply and slewed across the road, heading towards the nearest police vehicle. Drew held on to the steering wheel, struggling to steer out of the slide. His efforts may have been successful because the Volkswagen came to a stop mere inches away from the rear of the nearest vehicle in the police barricade.

  “Hell,” breathed Drew, hitting the steering wheel with both hands.

  Mark didn’t comment. He was watching the BMW through the rear window. It halted close to the rear of their vehicle. The driver and his companion appeared to have no concerns about the police presence. He and Drew were blocked in, with one of the barricade vehicles in front and the black BMW behind.

  “We’ve got trouble,” Mark said to the listening sergeant. “We have five patrol cars blocking the road; they’re all Highway Patrol. Troopers are standing next to their vehicles, with weapons pointing at us. The guys following us are confident, perhaps too confident. Maybe there’s some collusion. We’ll get out and see what this is all about.”

  Four police officers were standing in front of the Volkswagen, weapons drawn and aimed at Drew and Mark. At the same time the two occupants of the BMW had exited and were approaching on either side of the Touareg. Mark was not surprised to see other troopers had weapons at the ready—something strange was happening. Two police vehicles left the barricade, heading down the highway.

  The man closest to Drew motioned with his handgun. “Exit your vehicle. If you have a gun, leave it behind. As you exit, raise your hands.”

  “Come on, let’s see what this is about,” Mark said.

  “I have a bad feeling.”

  “You’re not alone.”

  They opened their doors simultaneously and stepped out. Mark dropped his cell phone and his Glock on the car seat and noted Drew did the same with his gun. Mark stood straight and raised his hands high. He felt the presence of one of the men from the BMW behind him. He couldn’t see the other man and assumed he was standing behind Drew.

  “Our weapons are in the vehicle,” he said. “Why are you stopping us?”

  “Shaddup,” commanded the closest police officer.

  Another one said, “We’ve all seen the FBI BOLO alert.”

  “I’m with Winter Security,” Drew said. “We were under attack, as I reported to your base. Look—”

  The police officer who had instructed them to get out of the SUV struck Drew across the face with his weapon.

  “I told ya—shaddup.”

  Drew staggered and lurched forward, towards the police officer who had attacked him. Mark heard a shot and realized it had come from the man standing behind Drew. He saw Drew fall to the ground. Mark felt the pressure of a gun barrel in his side.

  “Don’t move, don’t utter a word, unless you want to join your friend.” The voice was soft, close to a whisper.

  “I think you can write that up as shot while assaulting an officer in an attempt to escape.” The speaker was the driver of the BMW. He leaned down to check the body. “No pulse.” He sounded satisfied. He addressed the senior officer. “Thanks for your assistance. We’ve been after these people for some time. We’ll take the other one—you can have the body. Our boss will be in contact with your boss to express his thanks. We owe you, all of you.”

  “You’re welcome. Glad to help the FBI. Did you lose anyone?”

  “As far as I know all of my people are alive. Perhaps some broken bones. One or two vehicles were wrecked along the way. I’ll make sure you get a full report. Our chopper is due to arrive shortly—it’s going to land here. Can your men drive these two vehicles to your base? We’ll have someone pick them up later. We want to get this one behind bars as quickly as we can.”

  Mark listened with disbelief. He didn’t believe these men were FBI agents. Before he could object, he was reminded with a sudden jab that the weapon barrel was still pressed into his side. The threat was obvious. Mark held back his response—he would pick a better time.

  The senior police officer said, “Understandable. I’ll arrange for the vehicles to go to our garage.”

  The whomp, whomp of an approaching helicopter caught everyone’s attention. They all watched as the aircraft settled down on the highway, a hundred yards back. The man with the handgun poked Mark’s side with the weapon.

  “Hands behind your back. My associate’s going to cuff you.”

  The man who had shot and killed Drew approached, readying handcuffs. Resigned, Mark allowed the man to cuff him without protest. He felt a jab in the side of his neck.

  “Wha—?” He tried to jerk his head away from the sharp pain.

  “It’s only a little something to make sure you don’t give us any trouble. It’ll take effect in a few minutes. Now come on, we have a chopper to catch.” The speaker turned back to the police officers. “Thanks again, everyone. We owe you.” He grabbed Mark’s arm and pulled him towards the waiting aircraft. He spoke in a softer voice to Mark. “You’ve given me enough trouble this morning—two of my men are dead. Give me any more and I will shoot you. No, I won’t kill you. I’ll make sure you hurt, though.”

  Mark’s head began to spin. He knew they were approaching the side passenger door of the helicopter. He did not have the strength to step up into the cabin and someone pushed him from behind. He fell, sliding across the cabin floor. He hit his head on something unyielding. He was lifted and pushed into a seat. There was a jumble of voices and activity. He heard a voice, as though from a long way away.

  “You’ve got him—good. Expect the bonus—”

  The rest was lost in the noisy acceleration as the helicopter lifted off. Everything went dark, silent, and he floated, floated, floated.

  Chapter 7

  The two-person Redmont Police crime team arrived at what they called the Midway Property some minutes after 4:00 p.m. The driver of the van, Lieutenant Kelsi Pierce, cursed to herself when she saw broken glass on the blacktop on the way towards the ruins of the house. She slowed the vehicle and wound around the clumps of glass fragments.

  “Someone made a heck of a mess of this,” she commented to her assistant. Kelsi had the rank of lieutenant, in part because of her Boston experience and in part because of her medical qualification.

  “A gang of some kind attacked the property a month or so before you were recruited, Doc,” her assistant replied. He was a trainee laboratory assistant, young, eager for experience.

  “Can I ask you a question?” the lieutenant said as she stopped the van in front of the burnt wreckage of a house.

  Her assistant was cautious. “Sure, Doc. I suppose.”

  “Why does everyone call you Ladder? I mean, the alliteration works—Ladder Lasher—but what’s the reason?”

  Kelsi watched as her assistant grew red in the face—the way the color spread she realized his entire body was blushing.

  “Aw—do you have to?”

  “No, of course not. However, it would make a positive contribution to our working relationship.” She hid her smile. She opened the rear door of the van and pulled out her evidence kit and camera. “Here, carry this. I’ll take the camera. You can tell me as we explore. Harkness said Leary would be here. Can you see anyone?”

 
“No.”

  “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”

  Ladder mumbled as he took hold of the evidence kit.

  Kelsi thought he said something like “You don’t know the half of it.”

  She smiled. “Harkness said there was a track away from the house, at the rear. We need to find the small shed a couple of hundred yards along that track, right?”

  “Yes, Doc.”

  “Good. Come on. Let’s find this mysterious shed. Now, your story.”

  “Aw, Doc, don’t do this to me. Look, there’s the path.”

  “Where the heck is Leary, I wonder?”

  They headed down the path and stopped outside the door of the shed. He set the evidence kit on the ground.

  “Gloves,” instructed Kelsi. “While this is probably a wild goose chase, we need to follow the rules.” They both donned latex gloves. Kelsi took photos of the front of the shed and moved in closer to photograph the broken lock. He watched, hopeful that the lieutenant would forget her question. Kelsi pried open the door and stepped inside.

  “Flashlight,” she requested. Ladder reached into the evidence kit, found the flashlight, and handed it to his boss. He stood beside her, to watch her process.

  Kelsi steadied the beam, moving it carefully from corner to corner, progressively checking the interior of the small shed. She stopped and shifted the beam back to what appeared to be a collection of old clothes. Men’s clothes. She froze for a moment and then her training kicked in.

  “Stop. Don’t move any further into the shed. That’s a body. It may be our missing Officer Leary. Whoever it is, I need to check for life signs. Wait outside the door for me.”

  Ladder quickly exited the shed and Kelsi followed shortly after. “It’s Leary. He’s dead. Shot. We have to go back to the van and call it in. Take care where you walk.”

  She led the way back to the crime team vehicle and called in her emergency. The duty officer was as shocked as she was.