Callum slowly nodded.
“Good stuff!” Tall man exclaimed, an air of superiority to his tone. “There are, however, a few more things we have to make you aware of. The first is that he is extremely well-trained. He is not just some overweight bobby avoiding paperwork and looking forward to his pension. He has served in the specialist firearms unit and, from what I hear, is pretty clued-up on defence tactics. So the chances of him being tooled-up are extremely high. Don’t be fooled by his badge and don’t take any chances. If he catches you, rest assured he will kill you without losing a minute’s sleep over it. The second thing is that his home is large, thanks to the vast sums of money he has stolen over the years. Its location is in a semi-rural area and, to add just a little more flavour to the mix, due to his paranoia and high consumption of certain narcotics, his home is a real-life Fort Knox. Make no mistake he has alarms, two big-ass scary guard dogs, and there are solid steel bars on the windows.” He paused, perhaps to make sure Callum was listening. Callum remained silent, taking all the information in.
“To be quite honest, Mr Benson, you certainly have your work cut out for you, but I am confident you will do just fine. Your burglary skills are going to prove useful, to say the least. Do you have any questions?”
Callum shifted in his seat, his bravado starting to grow. “How much are you going to pay me?” he asked, confidently.
Tall man started to laugh.
“That’s the spirit,” he chuckled. “How much do you think a job like this is worth?”
Callum sat up straight and looked Tall man in the eyes.
“One hundred thousand,” he stated, bluntly. “If you really need this guy taken care of within the next twenty-four hours, then he must owe you a shit tonne of money, and if that’s the case you can throw some of it my way.” He paused, awaiting some sort of response, then continued. “You came to me, remember” he added, confidently.
Tall man rubbed his hands together, seemingly enjoying the exchange and perceived power reversal. “Tell you what, Scallywag, whatever you find in the house, you can keep. Seem fair?” He paused, then began to chuckle softly. “Let me ask you this, Callum. What do you want more than anything in this world? At this present moment in time, what would you desire the most?”
Callum was starting to feel uneasy. What was this guy’s angle? His stomach felt as if it was going to explode. His mind raced.
“You see, Callum, you only think you want money at this given moment, and I agree that, ordinarily, cold, hard cash would be a fantastic motivator, but because I am such a special kind of guy, with my finger on the pulse of the younger generation, I know what you truly desire even if you yourself don’t.”
He stood up and walked across to one of his companions, who handed him a tablet. “And because I am such a compassionate chap, I’m going to give you the chance to obtain your heart’s desire, Scallywag.” He walked towards Callum and held up the now illuminated tablet “I’m going to give you the chance to see poor Rebecca breathing one last time”
Callum looked at the screen in horror as the live stream of his sister, bound to a chair, stared back at him. Her mouth was taped shut, a gun was pressed to her head. He glared at his captor and started to scream, “You fucker! if you hurt her I—”
Tall man lashed out, punching him in the mouth. “You will what, Callum? he rasped. “This isn’t a negotiation. This isn’t some Hollywood movie where the good guy charges in on a white horse and saves the day. This is the real world where you are going to do what I fucking tell you or I’m going to put a bullet into your little sister’s head!”
Callum gagged and spat a large globule of blood onto the floor, then once again glared at Tall man. “I swear to God, I’m going to fucking kill you,” he growled, vehemently.
Tall man slowly stood up, stretching his arms out wide, yawning as he did so. He exhaled deeply. “I can assure you with utmost certainty, Mr Scallywag, that God isn’t listening to you right now. In fact, I can categorically state that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about you or your sister.”
Callum’s captor lowered his head. “I’m getting bored with this game, Mr Benson. It’s time to make a decision, a decision that will undoubtedly have dramatic repercussions, should the wrong path be chosen.” He casually turned and moved towards his four silent companions. “Let’s cut to the chase and dispense with the hard-man gangster routine, shall we? We both know you are going to do what I say. And, at some point, I have no doubt you will try to escape, but for the sake of any crossed wires let me explain this so we’re crystal clear. I want you to remember that only I know where your sister is being held.” He turned to face Callum once again and gestured to the silent assailants. “Not even my associates know her location. So, if anything should happen to me…” Tall man let the sentence trail off, knowing full well he need not explain any further.
Callum felt a sense of colossal emptiness. His whole world had come crashing down around him in the space of a few hours. He was powerless to avoid the chaos it had unleashed. He nodded slowly, his acquiescence leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
Tall man started to clap his hands, his companions joining in a few seconds later. Callum stared at his tormentors, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He forced back the rage, keeping it hidden. He swore to himself that they would pay, maybe not now, but soon.
Suddenly, without warning, one of the captors lunged forward, their speed catching him by surprise. Callum tried to recoil; his limbs aching under the strain. The figure grabbed his arm with one hand then, with the other, pushed something sharp into his skin.
Callum glanced down just in time to see the empty syringe being pulled free. His head started to spin, his vision clouding. “What the hell…” he muttered as the drug began to take hold, dulling his senses. Tall man walked forward, gently placed his hands on Callum’s shoulders, and whispered in his ear:
“Fear not, Sir Knight, for when you waken you will have in your possession all you need to slay the dragon.”
Callum’s vision deteriorated then, slowly started to fade to black. Just before he passed out he heard Tall man’s final words.
“Remember, Scallywag, Rebecca is counting on you.”
Four
Friday 22:17 Hrs
Callum came to. His head throbbed viciously from the drugs thrust into his system, his vision was blurred, his actions dulled. With his left hand, he cautiously reached up and rubbed his face in an attempt to reconnect with his senses. hThe brain fog started to dissipate, his memories floating slowly back to him.
He urgently looked about him for any sign of his captors. Even though it was now dark, and the moonless sky was heavy with cloud, they were nowhere to be seen.
He relaxed slightly, the relief of being alive palpable, the elation of taking another breath exhilarating.
With aching limbs, he propped himself up and, as his vision returned to normal, he once again took in his surroundings.
He suddenly remembered Rebecca, the gun to her head, her tear-stained face, her eyes pleading for her big brother to save her. He instinctively lashed out at the ground, his sudden rage threatening to boil over. He closed his eyes, willing her face to leave him in peace. He couldn’t bear seeing her like that again. He was shaking violently, his whole body surging with a heavy mixture of adrenaline and unrelenting anguish.
He sat silently and motionless, the blackness of the night adding to his already sombre mood. After a few minutes, he eventually managed to slow his breathing and rein his temper in. He let out an exaggerated breath to expel the negativity and draw in the courage needed to carry on fighting.
He would make them pay. He didn’t know how or where but, after this was done and dusted, he would find out who they were and make them regret hurting his sister and for dragging him into this nightmare. He would plan something special for Tall man, that was for sure.
Callum wiped his eyes, took in a lungful of air and settled his composure. He had to be single-minded;
he had to be focused once again on his current task. He psychologically shook himself, for now was not the time to be clouded by emotion, especially an emotion as detrimental as sorrow. Or, for that matter, complete helplessness. Or was there something else? Guilt, perhaps? His plan of running when released was damn near impossible all the while Rebecca was being held captive. Inwardly he despised his cowardice, but logically he knew he had no choice but to do as he was told.
He could see no other way to save his sister.
Callum glanced around. Beneath him was long grass compressed by his body weight. To his left and set back slightly lay a small, dense woodland, the darkness only allowing him to see a few metres within. To his right was a slope, gently rolling away but strewn with waist-high grass, interspersed with years’ worth of weeds. Beyond the slope, he could see lights from a dwelling. From the looks of it the house was a decent size. It was safe to assume that this was his intended target. There was no other obvious reason for him to be dumped in such a location.
Just past the house he could see other scattered lights emanating from randomly placed buildings. The area seemed populated but semi-rural, just as his captors had stated.
Callum rubbed his forehead and rose to his feet, and it was then he noticed the small, black rucksack on the floor, semi-hidden in the grass. He froze, his senses attuning to the murky surroundings. Satisfied he was alone, he reached down and snatched up the bag, feverishly unzipping it to inspect its contents.
He reached inside, his hand immediately falling upon something metallic. As he clasped hold of it, he discovered it was surprisingly heavy. He pulled it free. It was a large military torch, the kind soldiers or policemen use. He hefted it, mentally noting its use as a possible weapon, should the need arise. Callum decided not to test it as he presumed his captors wouldn’t have left a bag here for him containing malfunctioning tools, especially with the imposed urgency regarding the errand he had been forced to perform. Not only that, but he didn’t fancy garnering any unwanted attention, regardless of the sparsely-populated area. He carefully placed it on the ground and once again reached inside the holdall.
This time he felt the familiar shape and weight of a screwdriver. He grinned to himself; the burglar’s most prized possession. Diligently he placed it next to the torch, then shook the bag. It rattled. Callum turned it upside down and shook it to see any final items.
He looked on in disbelief as five 12gauge shotgun cartridges and a small matchbox fell to the ground. He brushed the ammunition to one side and picked up the matchbox. He couldn’t help but notice the smear of blood along the top side of it. He gave it a gentle shake then pushed it open. Inside he found a piece of rolled up paper that he guessed to be no bigger than six-inches square.
But there was something else, something wrapped within. He retrieved it and slowly started to unravel the contents, opening it up so he could spread it out on the ground.
Callum froze and looked on in silence. His stomach lurched at the realisation that it was in fact a handwritten note, and meticulously placed inside was one of his little sister’s fingers, the pewter unicorn ring he had bought her for her birthday last year still placed upon it.
Callum felt sick. Maybe it wasn’t Rebecca’s. Maybe it was someone else’s, he tried to reason with his subconscious. He reached down and picked up the crudely-scrawled note. The simple message eradicated any doubt and any semblance of hope that the gory appendage didn’t in fact belong to his younger sister. He glared at the words
“The clock is ticking, Scallywag. The longer you take, the more Rebecca bleeds.”
His temples throbbed, his anger swelling once again. He screwed up the note and threw it to one side in rage. “Bastards!” he hissed. His mind was a whirlwind of agony and despair.
He reached down and gently placed the digit back in the matchbox and slipped it into his hoodie pocket. He grabbed the shotgun cartridges, torch, and screwdriver, and tossed them into the holdall, then zipped it closed. He stood up and slung the bag over his shoulders and stared down the hill towards the house. He rubbed his eyes once more, inhaled heavily, then made his way down the slope towards the lights.
The clock was ticking.
It took Callum only a matter of minutes to reach his target. He tried to force all thoughts of his sister to one side, but the constant static in his brain made it difficult to completely concentrate on his objective at a time when absolute focus was critical.
As he reached the periphery he managed to regain his nerve and stealthily crouched down, his body mass hidden by the rough foliage surrounding the perimeter of the property. Callum remained silent, his breathing controlled. He relaxed, taking as much time as needed to cast his experienced eyes around the well-manicured garden.
At the centre of the garden, and the most dominating feature, sat a large ornate fountain surrounded by what looked like statues of dancing figures. Callum huffed. Pompous twat, he said to himself.
The house itself was a two-storey detached building. Callum guessed it would be five bedrooms, judging by the layout. No doubt a kitchen, living room, dining room, and possibly some form of study. Of course, he couldn’t know for sure, but over the years he had developed a sixth sense for layouts which had proved useful on more than one occasion. He doubted it had a basement but it was prudent to expect the unexpected. To some it may have seemed like a period property, with its Victorian façade and high angle beams, but to the trained eye exuded overcompensation and was ripe with the owner’s desperation to appear more affluent then they really were.
If this guy really did have a lot of cash he certainly didn’t have the style and taste to match it. In Scallywag’s line of work, you could always tell when someone was faking their social standing.
Callum gave the garden one last scan then turned his attention to the heavy-looking back door. He sighed at the sight that his captors had forewarned him about. At the rear entrance, just above the mantel, was a powerful set of infrared sensors connected to two industrial-looking neon floodlights, the dull red glow awaiting activation by any unwanted visitor or late-night caller. Callum reckoned that when activated, the entire garden would be engulfed by light, leaving little or no place to hide. It was safe to assume that if this copper was so paranoid, he would have cameras set up to digitally record any would-be intruder. By the looks of the set-up there would be no time to reach cover, no matter which direction he ran.
It was a good fifty feet of open ground between his current position and the building. Callum couldn’t help but secretly admire his target’s security prowess and planning. He looked to the left of the doorway; a heavy set of patio doors dominated the side of the house. From this distance, Callum couldn’t see any sensors, but it stood to reason that the glass would be re-enforced to some degree, making entry highly unlikely. Which was a shame because ordinarily patio doors were easy to get into. All it took was a lock-pick and crowbar.
Callum’s initial assessment of the building wasn’t looking good; he hated the fact that it wasn’t going to be as straightforward as he had secretly hoped. In truth, he had prayed that the men in black’s briefing had been overexaggerated, but now it would appear they had been correct.
His gaze took him to the first floor and to two sets of big windows of adjacent rooms, one in darkness and the other with a light on, albeit subdued behind heavy curtains. Callum wasn’t surprised to see thick bars straddling the glass, the ends welded to a heavy frame attached to the wall itself. If someone had time they could cut through using a torch, but that just wasn’t an option.
Callum rubbed his forehead in frustration. The clock was ticking, his subconscious reminded him yet again. He had no choice but to circle the building and ascertain an entry point.
To his right, the garden opened up slightly and curved around, no doubt continuing to the front of the property. A large shed was set back next to what looked like a small fishpond, but due to the openness and lack of cover, Callum thought it unwise to investigate further.
He also reasoned that the kitchen and living room would be on that side; the garden grew larger there and there were the beginnings of a set of decking just visible at the corner of the building. Going on previous experience, Callum’s guessed that was the kitchen area. The option was there for him; he would have to move to the left-hand side of the property and hope for the best.
Sticking to the outer reaches of the property’s boundary, Callum cautiously made his way to the left, all the while keeping his body low—so as not to skyline his silhouette—and keeping out of the gaze of any sensors or security cameras.
As the left-hand side of the dwelling came into view he noticed a low-level single-storey building attached to the main structure. He presumed that it was a garage or workshop.
He smiled slightly, knowing full well that if it was adjoined it was highly likely to be the weakest point in the house’s defences. He grinned triumphantly. For some unknown reason, nine times out of ten most people secure the outer entry point but forget to lock the inner access. Whether this was due to overconfidence, or pure forgetfulness, was open for debate.
Regardless, Callum was more than willing to take advantage of the possible mistake.
Once again Callum stayed in a low crouch and studied the building. From his vantage point he noted that the heavy foliage arced around to his left and ended a mere couple of feet from the building. He assumed that there would be enough of a gap between the edge of the property and the bushes to enable him to make his way the length of the garage. More importantly, to stay out of the way of prying eyes or any security measures he may have missed.
Scallywag TYPESET Page 3
