The Silent Neighbours (Watchers Book 2)

by S. T. Boston

  “This is Inspector Franck Ackhart, from Le Police Nationale, France, stationed at Le Havre, to whom am I talking?” The heavily accented English was unmistakably threaded with tension.

  “This is Special Agent Josh Simmonds, what is your enquiry?” The call had disturbed his reading, he hoped that whatever the issue he could get it dealt with swiftly and get back to the news, even though it made grim reading. Simmonds fully intended to earn his double pay as easily as he could, having just worked seven days straight he was in no mood for protracted tasks. These overtime shifts were known as being an easy ride, typically when he was on duty there always seemed to be something to do.

  “Agent Simmonds,” the voice prompted, barely waiting for him to finish his sentence. “I sent over a case file for one of your wanted, missing, identify reports, reference F2453.2025.” Simmonds changed screens and pumped the number into the search bar on the FBI's intranet.

  “Arrest of a male by the name of Samuel Becker, possibly connected with three unsolved homicide cases, currently in French custody,” he read back, looking at the original email.

  “Oui, that is the one,” came the urgent voice down the phone. “Tell me, Agent Simmonds, have you raised any papers to have the prisoner handed over to your authorities for initial questioning at your embassy?”

  Simmonds scanned the actions attached to the file, it was only a few hours old, a contact request had been added to the notes but it was being held for the morning team, “Not that I can see, it's likely we would seek permission to do such a thing if there are similarities between the cases, but as yet there are no notes on the action.” Extradition was becoming rarer, with countries choosing to deal with initial enquiries either at the prisoners place of detention, or if the matter warranted it, the prosecuting country's embassy. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone, “Inspector, did you hear me? I said we have made no applications as yet to speak with your prisoner.”

  “Merci,” came the voice from across the Atlantic, the call quality was not great but the male on the other end of the line sounded even more distant.

  “Is there something I can help you with, sir?” questioned Simmonds. There was no reply form the other end, the phone just went dead. Returning the handset to its cradle Simmonds read the case file report, there was no doubt it was an interesting case, but it was in a queue for the morning, and that would make it someone else's problem to deal with, someone who shouldn't be enjoying a day off. Closing the report he re-opened the Washington Post story and went back to reading the grim news that in the next few days, when the USA brought its nuclear defence systems back online, the world would once again be in a state of nuclear standoff.

  * * *

  With his hands now shaking uncontrollably, Ackhart clicked the phone back into place. For a few long seconds he sat staring into middle space. Sliding his drawer open he eyed the fresh bottle of brandy longingly, it had been twenty long years since he'd searched for the answer at the bottom of such a bottle. It was never there, but it did make life easier to deal with. Those days lost in the bottle had come at a cost, his military career, his pilot's licence and his marriage. Still, despite all that the bottle still called to him longingly, dry for twenty years and yet still he felt the need to keep a bottle of the poison close by, in case things went sour, for days such as this. Deep down he knew it wasn't a matter of if he went back to the booze, but when. Pushing the growing temptation to one side he slammed the draw causing his cooling coffee to slop over the brim of the mug and onto his desk. Sure Becker had tried to escape, sure he'd given him a black eye and a pounding head that would rival the morning after one of his heaviest binges, but he'd been wrong. He'd released a prisoner over to people who had no right to take him. Despite the fact that all the papers and IDs had looked as real any he'd seen, he would, of course, be held responsible for the monumental fuck up, and for a higher profile murder like Laurett's that would mean his balls and head on a stick. Immediate dismissal and no chance of the pension that he'd been paying into for the last twenty years. He felt sure that bottle, which had laid for years in his desk, would soon see the light of day, but not yet, first he had things to do. Later he would drink, later he would drown his sorrows for not trusting that moment of doubt. Maybe Becker had good reason to fight for his life, to ensure those who had him didn't get the chance to do whatever it was they had planned. He wasn't sure as it all felt a little fuzzy but he seemed to recall Sam Becker apologising to him just before hitting him a second time, likely his imagination but it felt frighteningly real. Glancing at his watch he saw that Becker had been gone for fifteen minutes already, he had to act now and he had to act fast. Grabbing his Sig Pro SP 2022 from the locked gun draw, the one just below where the brandy continued to await his return like a faithful mistress, he headed for the door. What was it Becker had said again? 'I'll be on a plane and out of the country within an hour!' The city's airport was less than twelve kilometres away, meaning Becker was likely already there. He might already be too late, but he knew one thing, he had to try.

  Chapter 15

  A single monotone sound, like that of a droning air-conditioner, was the first thing Lucie heard as she blinked her eyes open, she felt tiered and achy, the kind of ache that went right through to the bones. Moving her neck and arms her joints felt stiff, she tried to roll slightly but was held firmly in place causing a momentary feeling of panic to well up inside of her. Managing to sit herself up slightly, by using her elbows as support, she saw that she was laid on the back seat of a car, the droning noise was nothing more than the sound of tyres as they hummed along the concrete of the motorway. For a second fear gripped her, freezing her body to the spot. The last thing she remembered was flying down the small slope and into the orange glow of the Blackwall Tunnel, then after that, nothing. One thing was certain, this was not her car. She'd kept her little Mini spotless inside, the rear foot well of this vehicle was littered with snack packets and the odd half crushed Coke can. Almost not wanting to know the answer she craned her stiff neck round to see just who was driving. Seeing Oriyanna's impossibly glossy blonde hair flowing down the sides of the grey cloth headrest, she laid back onto the rear seat and let out a long, relieved sigh.

  “You're awake,” Oriyanna noted, not taking her eyes off the road. “And not a moment too soon, I know I'm heading the right way but I have no idea when I need to get off this massive road!” Having stolen a few much needed moments to steady her nerves Lucie found what she called the 'clunk clicker' part of her seatbelt and released it, giving her full movement and the ability to swing her legs around and sit up. Initially this made her feel a little dizzy and her head swam. Taking long, slow deliberate breaths she got herself back on an even keel. She'd found that lately she was become prone to such episodes, the odd dizzy spell here and bit of sickness there. She put it down to nothing more than exhaustion and a bit of stress, certainly this evening's little wobble could be down to either of those things.

  “How long have we been on the motorway?” she croaked, “And where the hell is Mavis?”

  “Who is Mavis?”

  “My little Mini, the one that I seem to remember you blasted the back windscreen out of.”

  “You named your car?” Oriyanna sounded surprised and somewhat amused at the human idiosyncrasy of naming an inanimate object.

  “Yeah, I did. Sam used to rib me about it, too.”

  “You Earth-Human's never fail to amaze me, how funny!” The smallest of little giggles escaped her lips, it made Lucie relax a little, underneath that tough and alien exterior she was human after all - well in a manner of speaking anyway. “We have been on this heading - on this road,” she corrected, “for just over half an hour, my speed has been a constant eighty miles an hour.” Lucie squinted out of the window, trying to get her bearings and some idea of how far they'd travelled, however her own reflection was all that looked back at her, bouncing off the darken windscreen. She felt her own amusement brimming inside at Oriya
nna's very clinical answer to her question. They might both look anatomically similar but there were some vast differences for sure.

  “You need to take a road called the M3, it should be coming up anytime soon, we might have already missed it!”

  “I don't recall seeing it, I have studied every exit since I got on this …” she paused, “motorway?”

  “Good, then we will be just fine.” Lucie climbed out of the back seat, slid her slight frame into the passenger side and secured her seatbelt, her feet finding another empty drinks container that had been abandoned on the floor. “Whose car is this?”

  “Just before the crash the guys chasing us down swerved to avoid it, the driver and his passenger got out to help, big mistake on their part, lucky for us.” Oriyanna offered her an encouraging smile. She felt relieved to have Lucie to talk to, it helped to quell the memories that had been plaguing her thoughts since leaving the house.

  A darkened motorway information bridge rushed past, only illuminated by their headlights, the flood lighting once used to help such things standout for night drivers long since dead. The sign instructed them to keep left for the M3 in a few miles. “Looks like I woke up just in time,” Lucie added, not feeling entirely comfortable that they were taking the long trip in a stolen car. “Take a left here and head towards Southampton, then look for signs for Salisbury. I wonder if Adam has made it yet?” She fished her mobile from her pocket, not surprisingly there was no signal. For the first time since waking she felt a sickening worry return, Sam was still out there somewhere, the thought that they had been watching them made her feel sick, they must have known what he was doing, likely a team of them had been lying in wait for him at his target's house. Lucie took a deep breath and steadied her nerves. “Just how long have you been on Earth?” she asked, trying to take her mind off the endless possibilities for what might have happened to Sam. None of them ended well in her head. The question felt stupid, but it wasn't, she suddenly got an idea of what her brother, and now husband, had needed to deal with when they'd stumbled into this mess.

  “I got back here around seven months after Adam and Sam came home.”

  “You have been here for nearly two years?” spat Lucie, sounding disgusted, it was certainly not the answer she was expecting. Oriyanna eyed her, almost looking hurt at the outburst. “In all that time you never once came to see my brother. Do you know how he feels about you?”

  “Not a day went by when I didn't want to see him,” defended Oriyanna pleadingly. “I had to beg the Arkkadian Council to be on this mission, the one condition was that I had to have no direct contact with Adam or Sam. “I have seen him,” she added sheepishly. “I worked out, from his description of the area when we were on Arkkadia, where the house was. I saw him sitting in the park one day, with his notepad. I wanted to go to him, but I couldn't. I've seen him a few times since then, too. Every time it's taken all my will power not to go to him.”

  “Just what do you mean by direct contact?” fired Lucie, choosing to ignore the last part of Oriyanna's sentence. She had almost ignored it after the words 'direct contact.' She already knew the answer in her head, no matter how much she didn't want to believe it. “You're responsible for the target packages that arrive at our door, aren't you?” She followed up, not even giving Oriyanna the chance to answer the question.

  “Please, Lucie, it was hard for me to use him, myself and the other three,”

  “What other three?”

  “Arkkadians, I did not come alone. We have, or had, been gathering intelligence for the past two years, fearful that the one who made the virus had escaped to Earth, whilst here we began to track and trace as many of the Earth-Breed as we could. I didn't want Sam to get involved….”

  “Funny way of not getting him involved,” fired Lucie, anger rippling through her body. “He is out there, right now! Likely dead and it's your fault.” She jabbed a finger at Oriyanna who almost shrunk back defensively against the door of the Juke. “If anything happens to him, or Adam - they have given enough!” Oriyanna glided the 4x4 left and onto the M3, flying south through the cold night she looked at Lucie, she didn't need to touch her to feel the betrayal and anger which was coursing through her body.

  “I can't change what has been,” replied Oriyanna flatly. “I had no choice, the last Watchers to have lived on Earth are all dead. I brought three back with me who had carried out the duty before Euri Peterson, Jacques Guillard, Francis Tillard and John Remy, and now they are dead too.”

  “How so?” Lucie noticed Oriyanna's plaid complexion, she looked drained, as if she had nothing left to give and wondered if she'd been a little hard on her.

  “Our base was not far from you, in Greenwich, they figured out where we were. Ten minutes or so before I arrived at your bar I was running for my life having seen my three colleagues slaughtered.”

  Lucie shook her head in disbelief, disbelief of the situation and at hearing the names of the former Watchers that she'd reeled off. Even two and a half years on she still found it hard to believe. They were all names that Lucie knew even before hearing Adam and Sam's account, the one that smacked her most in the face was John Remy, one of the most powerful and famous men on the planet, was not even from this planet, the idea made her head spin.

  “They had served here on Earth previously. They returned to help me look for the one ultimately responsible for the virus, and now they're dead and there was nothing I could do to stop it.” Her voice sounded a little distant, Lucie could tell that inside her head she was running through whatever it was that she'd witnessed, likely not for the first time that night, despite that she still felt angry at the fact they'd used Sam as their fixer, and to think that at first, Adam had wanted to help as well.

  “They don't owe you anything. Just because you gave them The Gift, it does not put them in your debt for the rest of eternity, and I don't see how you can call it a gift. Who wants to live forever? From what I can tell it's left you pretty lonely.” Lucie felt immediately guilty as soon as the last few words left her mouth, sure she was angry but that hit was below the belt.

  “Lucie, you did not see how your brother and Sam were when we went through, The Tabut,” defended Oriyanna, sounding hurt. Although she understood Lucie's anger toward her for putting Sam in harm's way she felt bad nonetheless. “They were both as good as dead, Adam was in the final stages of The Reaper, he was hours from death. Sam had a chest wound, I thought…” she paused, remembering how she'd believed that both of them were dead when The Tabut had shut down on the Arkkadian side. “I thought they were both dead, Lucie. Sam had such a bad chest wound it's a miracle he survived, before we could apply The Gift he did die, twice. On Earth they would never have saved him. We did what we did to ensure they survived, after all that they'd been through I just could not leave them to die millions of miles from home.” She waited for Lucie to attack her again, however all that followed was a long pensive silence. She glanced at her new travelling companion, tears were flowing from her eyes.

  “I'm sorry,” she finally said, clearing her throat as she spoke. “I'm just so worried for Sam, I know Adam is safe, that's one thing, but my mind is going crazy running through what might have happened.” She took a cursory look at her mobile phone, not surprisingly there was no signal. “I don't blame you for wanting to use him, I know he enjoys that line of work, god knows I wish he didn't. You never forced him out the door.” Lucie smiled apologetically and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. “By the time we reach Wiltshire the mobile networks will be down until six AM, I just don't think I can take it.” She looked to Oriyanna pleadingly, she reached across and placed a hand on Lucie's stomach, she felt instantly better, inwardly Oriyanna breathed her own sigh of relief that the accident had done no damage.

  “From what I have seen of Samuel Becker,” smiled Oriyanna, “he can take care of himself. I take it he knows?”

  “Knows what?” Asked Lucie looking confused.

  “That he is going to be a fathe
r.”

  “I … I'm sorry,” Lucie stammered, eyes wide. “What did you say?”

  “I picked up on the baby's life-force when I grabbed hold of you back at your bar. You mean to tell me you don't know?” Lucie just gawped at her, eyes wide in a mixture of fear and excitement. “You're two months pregnant, Lucie, you're are going to be parents.”

  Chapter 16

  Two hundred meters, left turn. Fifty yards, cobbled road, right turn. Laying on the back seat of the X5, cuffed and his legs bound, Sam tried to record the journey in his head. Using what little information he could see from the restricted view through the dark tinted windows and using his sense of direction he tried to imprint it into his brain. It was how they'd trained him for kidnap situations during his time in the army, then a second very similar course when he'd gone back to the Middle East on close protection work. The rule was try to remember how far you'd been taken from the point of capture, what direction you'd travelled and for how long. Any smells or sounds could mean the difference between life and death, being found or being beheaded on some fanatic's internet broadcast. Sam never imagined it would be a skill he'd need to put into use, it had been years since he'd practised the art, practical training was the only way to prepare for such situations, it was not a skill-set that could be gleaned in the lecture room. From the back of the 4x4 Sam remembered how he'd been bundled into the boot of a rusty old Vauxhall Vectra and driven at speed around some of the not so smooth roads near to his base in Blandford, Dorset. Having been battered and bruised for a good twenty minutes of purposefully poor driving, he was bundled out and left to fend for himself somewhere in the Dorset countryside, and expected to find his way back to the camp against the clock. Then once back at the base you were debriefed and expected to describe the uncomfortable journey turn for turn. One hundred yards – bumpy road, another hundred yard, sharp right.