by S. T. Boston
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Epilogue Part 1
Epilogue Part 2
Epilogue Part 3
Epilogue Part 4
From The Author
The Silent Neighbours
Watchers Book 2
S T Boston
Copyright (C) 2015 S T Boston
Layout Copyright (C) 2015 by Creativia
Published 2014 by Creativia
eBook design by Creativia (www.creativia.org)
Cover art by Robin Ludwig (www.gobookcoverdesign.com)
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
In memory of both my Dad and Nan, both of whom were with us when I began this project but sadly taken before its completion.
Science fiction writers and Hollywood film producers have always shown us that if we ever faced a threat from a hostile alien race, we would be locked into a bitter fight to evade extinction at the hands of a race who bear no resemblance to life as we know it. They were wrong. When it came, the threat from space was much closer to home than any of us could ever have imagined, and they were already here. They lived among us, worked among us, and all the while they schemed against us. They were our silent neighbours.
-Adam Fisher-, Watchers
The Story Behind The Reaper
Chapter 1
The stars hung brightly in the sky, like a thousand fairy lights connected by an invisible mess of tangled wires. Sam Becker hunched his shoulders down into his Berghaus jacket and pulled the collar up an extra few inches to try and keep out the biting cold sea breeze, which felt like a frozen blade against his skin. Steadying the tiller on the small four horsepower Honda engine, he gunned the twist grip throttle until it reached the stop. As the small Honda maxed out he whipped his wrist away from the engine, instantly killing the motor by activating the emergency cut off.
Eyes fixed firmly on the approaching shore, Sam focused on the rhythmic sound of the water lapping at the aluminium hull, and the continuous distant whistle of the biting wind. Fruitlessly, he tried his best to relax. Just as he began to think he'd killed the engine too soon, a breaker picked up the rear of the boat and fired him toward the shore, faster than the feeble outboard could manage at full revs.
As the bow hit the shingle beach with a satisfying CRUNCH Sam was on his feet and jumping ashore, a spiked tie-off rope clenched in his cold, gloved hand. Driving the spike down hard into the shingle he heaved the front of the tender onto the beach, leaving the rear end bobbing in the shallow water, like a cork in a bath tub. Satisfied the small boat was secure he hiked his kit bag onto his back and scurried up the shingle bank, his feet making more noise on the loose stones than he would have liked.
The large and looming Chateau that was Sam's folly lay in a blanket of ominous darkness at the edge of the beach, surrounded by long grass scrubland to either side. The chilled breeze stirred the unkempt plants causing them to swoosh softly and invisibly in the night, like a multitude of whispering voices all announcing his arrival.
Reaching the edge of the shingle beach, Sam hunkered down by the wire perimeter fence and slid the backpack off his tense shoulders. Removing his rather damp and salty thermal gloves he dove an icy hand into the bag and removed a pair of latex ones. They offered nowhere near the same amount of warmth, and the cold sea air blowing in off the English Channel instantly felt as if it were slicing right into his flesh. Satisfied that they were fitted and in place he closed the bag and removed a small pair of wire cutters from a pocket on the side. Starting at the base of the fence he began snipping deftly at the thick wire, one section at a time. Each time a thick strand of plastic-coated wire gave way it sent a shockwave of pain through his numb and throbbing fingers.
Satisfied that he'd produced a hole big enough to gain access, he pushed his backpack through and lay down on the coarse grass that had sprung up through the fringes of the beach. With small wriggling movements he squeezed his way through the self-made breach and emerged on the other side. He was in.
Bending the wire back and disguising the hole as best he could Sam collected up his bag, dusted himself down and ran in a half hunched position across the grounds and toward the building, his soft soled shoes almost silent on the well cared for grass. An impressive yet silent fountain lay to his right; it almost felt as if the concrete gargoyle who sat proudly at the top had his stone cold eyes on him the whole way.
As he reached the back wall of the magnificent beachfront property Sam felt himself breathe for the first time in what felt like an age, he felt exposed despite the cover of night. Back pressed to the masonry he silently slipped along the building line until he reached the door. It was precisely where he'd estimated it to be when studying the satellite image of the house. Utilising the kit in his pack once again, he removed a small screwdriver from the same pouch that his wire cutters were in and proceeded to pop out the beading from around the bottom UPVC panel. Timing the removal of each bead with a strong gust of sea air he snapped all four panel retaining beads out of place. Despite the wind helping to disguise the noise, each time one popped out it seemed alarmingly loud.
Pausing for a second to slip the screwdriver back into his Deuter pack Sam then removed a small electronic pass-card reader from his bag and gripped it in his teeth. With hands far too numb and cold to be performing such a delicate operation he tapped the now loose panel with his fingers, right at its base, causing it to fall in. With one swift and surprisingly accurate movement he caught the top before it had time to clatter to the tiled floor on the other side. Allowing himself one more deep breath he climbed headfirst through the gaping hole he'd just made.
The warmth of the Chateau hit him like a deliciously snug blanket, but there was no time to enjoy it. The alarm panel immediately began beeping angrily to itself as if annoyed at the midnight intrusion. Quickly scanning the kitchen Sam located the box by its flashing red light. He knew he had twenty seconds. His soft black plimsolls made almost no sound as he briskly padded across the darkened kitchen, which looked big enough to host a TV cook off competition, camera crew, celebrity chefs and all. However such shows were a thing of the old world, the world before The Reaper.
Reaching the panel he removed the pass-card reader from his teeth and slid
the credit card sized section into a slot at the base of the impatient panel. Holding the LED number pad in his slightly shaking hand Sam watched wide eyed as the small electronic device worked its magic. Ten seconds, he thought to himself. The seconds ticked by like long drawn out minutes as the each one of the six digit deactivation code numbers appeared in bright red on his screen. With no time to spare the full code finally blinked back at him. Not pausing for a moment Sam hit the enter key on his control box and instantly felt himself relax a little, the main alarm control box stopped its low pitched rhythmic beep and pinged to a welcome green.
Awash with a mixture of relief and temporary elation, he noticed for the first time the smell of freshly ground coffee, mixed with the scent of bread that had no doubt been baked the previous evening. It made him yearn for a mug of the hot drink and something to eat, to one, help him get some heat back into his cold bones, and two, take away the salty taste of the spray that had continually assaulted his face on his trip from the cruiser to the shore. But there was no time.
Removing the card reader he briskly crossed the vast kitchen and hooked his hand through the hole in the door, scooping up his bag. Replacing the card reader he removed two syringes from a netted pouch at the top of his bag and slid them into his jacket pocket. Making his way toward the reception hall a large clock, big enough to be showing the time in a Victorian railway station, told him it was fast approaching midnight. In less than five minutes the job would be done and with luck he'd be back in that god forsaken launch and on his way to the cruiser, which, within minutes would be at full throttle and pointed firmly at the English coast, which lay out there in a blanket of freezing darkness.
Sam knew the layout of the house well from the plans he'd studied the previous day, and without even pausing for thought he reached the right hand staircase that lead to the first floor. Tiles gave way to a plush cream carpet that looked almost grey in the gloom. He was in no doubt that all welcome visitors would be asked to remove any footwear before even going near it. He had no time for such etiquette. Taking the stairs two at a time he was soon on the landing and looking at a line of white painted Georgian style doors. A mirror image of the layout sat just visible on the opposite wing of the entrance lobby. For a split second Sam wondered if he'd picked the correct side, he brushed the thought away in an instant, he knew he had. Stopping at the third door he carefully depressed the handle, the coolness of the brass seeping in through the thin latex glove. The large nursery / child's bedroom was empty. Bright moonlight streamed in through a grand window on the far wall casting strange shadows and highlighting the neatly made and empty race car replica bed. The Lighting Mcqueen duvet cover seemed somewhat out of place in this grand and overly lavish home, but the image of the bright red grinning race car still smiled enthusiastically back at him all the same. The intelligence had been right, much to his relief; the family were away for the weekend. Despite Sam holding no compassion for his target, the thought of carrying out his task with a child in the house made his blood run cold.
Leaving the door slightly ajar he continued on down the landing, arriving at an identical door that brought the passage to an end. With the same level of stealthiness Sam unlatched the door and slid in.
The cream carpet gave way to an impressive wooden floor, which despite the greying darkness still seemed to shine ever so slightly. At the far end of the room sat the large king sized bed, this was where Sam knew (and hoped), his target would be.
One tentative footstep at a time he drew closer, the breath almost clogged in his dry, parched throat. This was the tenth such target he'd taken out, then tenth such time he'd been in this kind of situation. It never got any easier.
The rhythmic rise and fall of the mounded bed cover told him his target was exactly where he wanted him to be. In bed and fast asleep. Removing one of the syringes from his jacket Sam bit the end cap off and spat it into his hand before tucking it away in his trousers. He was close now, he could hear the guy breathing, that slightly laboured sound which was natural for someone slightly overweight or not quite in the best of physical condition. The sleeping guy's wallet was on the bedside table, carefully Sam collected it up and thumbed through the cards. His French driver's licence was there, pulling it halfway out he looked at the name and the photo, this was his man. Just before he closed the leather Armani wallet something else caught his eye, tugging the three strips of white card free from the section where you'd usually keep your bank notes Sam removed a single airline ticket, destination Lima, Peru, the flight was due to leave the following morning. Not a cheap purchase in this recovering world, mind his target was a wealthy man. No matter what the cost of the ticket, it was one flight that this sleeping guy would most certainly be missing. Sliding the ticket back he replaced the wallet carefully onto the night stand.
Standing over the unaware and sleeping body, like a preying vampire in a horror movie, Sam whipped one hand down over his mouth, in the same instant he slid the needle into his exposed neck and depressed the plunger. Instantly the target's eyes flew open, wide and panicked, a muffed cry of fear reverberated from the underside of Sam's hand; at the same instant he felt warm saliva through the latex.
“Shushhhhh!” Sam said in an almost soothing and sympathetic tone, “Shushhh.” But the sympathy was only evident in his voice; his eyes told a different story.
The Pancuronium took seconds to work, the dose was just enough to send Sam's target into a state of complete muscular paralysis. Beneath his gloved hand Sam felt the man's tense jawline relax, it was enough to tell him that the injection had worked its chemical magic. Holding one hand to his lips to emphasise his command to stay quiet Sam gingerly removed his hand. A long trail of saliva forming a strand between the target's bottom lip and his thumb, it stretched out for a good six inches before finally breaking and falling back to his stubbly chin.
“Mathis Laurett?” questioned Sam in a low hushed voice, “Is your name is Mathis Laurett?” Sam knew he had the right man; he'd studied his target's picture more than once and seen his slightly chubby face on the drivers licence. Despite his dishevelled and sleep disturbed appearance the man before him was undoubtedly who he was after, still some small part of him liked them to confirm it.
“Ye-yes,” the man croaked, struggling to speak with virtually no control of his throat muscles.
“Do you know who I am?” asked Sam calmly.
“Ye-yes,” he repeated as if it were the only word he could say.
“Good, then you know why I am here?”
“Ye-yes,” Laurett replied his eyes wide and full of fear, more drool had joined the web-like strand on his chin giving him all the appearance of someone who'd just suffered a grand mal seizure.
“Mathis Laurett,” began Sam. “Under the order of the Arkkadian Council you have been sentenced to death for your part in The Reaper Virus, which led to the deaths of almost one billion people twenty nine months ago. It has been identified that you are Earth-Breed. Investigations have shown that you were employed in the staff of Jacques Guillard, an Arkkadian Watcher. During that time you were responsible for aiding in helping to identify him and ultimately that led to his death.” Sam paused, he had read charges out like this on ten previous occasions, however out of all the Earth-Breeds Sam had executed the man before him was without doubt the biggest player he'd killed since shooting Robert Finch back in the bowels of the Pyramid, over two years ago. Laurett offered up no comment other than a gurgled and slightly chocked attempt to swallow. “Further to this we have information to suggest that you were travelling out of Heathrow Airport on the day that The Reaper Virus was released into the population, we believe you are responsible for releasing one of the four vials of pathogen.”
“Please,” croaked Laurett with a struggled and strained voice. “Please, I ha-have a f-family.”
“And what of the millions and millions that virus killed, did they not have families?” spat Sam. “Do your family know of whom you really are?” He could feel a
deep rage burning inside, if he had his way Sam would have beaten Laurett to death then and there with his almost bare hands. But that wasn't how things were done.
“No,” Laurett croaked. “Please, I have information if you s-spare me my life.”
“I'm listening,” Sam replied, the retort took him off guard, none of his previous targets had begged for their lives or offered up anything in trade.
“The one – the one you seek, he is here, and he has plans.” Sam felt an ice cold hand run its spidery fingers down the length of his spine. For a second he saw a wicked smile flicker in the eyes of Laurett. “Your silent neighbours are many in number, and they are coming for you!” Despite the Pancuronium coursing through his body Laurett managed to spit the last word out with some venom. Beads of sweat had started to form on his wrinkled forehead, they ran uncomfortable into his eyes and back into his messy grey hair.
“Bullshit,” replied Sam, his voice raised slightly more than he felt comfortable with. He knew they were alone in the house but he still felt as if the walls were listening.
“Believe wh-what you want Mr. Becker, you will see.” Laurett's eyes were darting around wildly, as if he were searching for something, or someone, it made Sam feel uneasy. The effects of the drug were slowly wearing off and this time Sam did see him smile, an unmistakable hint of it on the bastard's chubby face. His lips drew back, exposing his yellowing teeth, “E-n-o-l-a,” he gurgled.
“Who the hell is Enola?” Sam demanded, as he bit the protective end cap off the second syringe.
“You – will see,” he croaked, still grinning like a loon.
Sam didn't have time to listen to anymore craziness and plunged the needle deep into his neck. The smile whipped from Laurett's mouth like a magician tearing a table cloth away. The second syringe contained a further dose of the drug, a deadly one. This helping would be enough to paralyse every muscle in Laurett's body, including his heart. A cry of fear spewed out of Laurett's drool covered mouth as the needle plunged deeply into his fatty neck. Five seconds after the plunger hit the stopper his body convulsed violently before falling back into the now sweat drenched covers, dead.
