Three Faces of West (2013)

by Christian Shakespeare

  Chapter 16:

  Arriving in by train Luton that afternoon seemed effortlessly easy. Despite the restrictions placed upon him as a consequence of the investigation into Jack’s activities he had to press on. Getting into one of the fleet of taxis waiting outside the station’s main entrance he instructed the driver to the address of the Old Fisheries arriving around twenty minutes afterwards. Upon completion of the journey, John asked the driver not to approach the site itself but instead to park just outside the perimeter, which he did. Getting out after paying the fee he was faced with a tingling feeling of the past, this place held rather happier memories for him, now it was just another part of a very disturbing puzzle.

  Now left on his own, he started walking up to the property, following the path, the stone crunching beneath his shoes with each step, his eyes fixed on the house. A small red brick cottage quaint in appearance and nestled in the countryside close to a small lake and woodlands stood before him but there seemed to be nobody moving about inside the building from what he could tell. The windows, white framed but with no blinds of curtains offered direct observations into the interior. Walking up to the same coloured wooden door, he tried the black handle but it was firmly locked; he expected as much. Peering through the windows he really didn’t pay much attention to the contents, just on the lookout for any sign, any potential movements that could be Jack.

  No such luck, the place was utterly deserted, yet it looked like it was occupied, there were little signs inside like items of possessions on a central table. It looked promising, but it didn’t link Jack to this place at this time, he had to find out for definite. Adjacent to the Old Fisheries was a secondary cottage, the residence of the landlord. Deciding to inquire he casually walked over to it, wondering if it was the same man as before. Knocking on the door, it took only a couple of seconds for the door latch to click as it opened. Before John stood an elderly gentleman, about 68 years old in appearance, thin with white hair combed with a side parting; John could tell it was indeed the same landlord in charge of the estate,

  “Excuse me, can you tell me if your cottage, the Old Fisheries is occupied?” He asked,

  “I’m afraid it is. You’re too late. Someone already checked in last night, a short notice booking. If you want I can pencil you in, when are you looking to stay?”

  Ironically this is exactly the information John wanted to hear, “I’m not looking for a booking…”

  “You’re a friend of the guest them?” Asked the landlord,

  “Yes…sort of.”

  The landlord, staring at his visitor, knew John from somewhere, but couldn’t place him. He had spoken to this man previously,

  “Have you been before?” He asked,

  “Yes a couple of years ago.”

  “I thought so. You were here with the other man weren’t you? The other one who checked in yesterday, I remember you, a couple of salesmen from Birmingham. Well back again are we? I suppose your job takes you all over.”

  John could tell the cover both him and Jack used the last time they were here was still believed. He decided to play along,

  “That’s correct. Look he’s expecting me, I was delayed until today, so is there a chance you could let me in? My friend appears to be out at the moment.”

  “Well your friend only made a booking for one person. I’m afraid it’s against policy to allow anyone in without a confirmation. Sorry.”

  Thwarted, but only briefly, he knew he had to make up another story to get past the landlord. Deciding to pull rank he tried something in a highly confident tone,

  “OK Look I need access to that property.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not a travelling salesman, I never have been. I’m actually a police officer,” John pulled out his ID and flashed it in front of the landlord’s face. Only briefly, just enough to give an air of authority about the bluff, but not too much so that he can read it,

  “That man you have been letting in, he’s not what he appears to be…he’s actually a killer.”

  The landlord looked shocked, “What?!!” He gasped,

  “I’m afraid it’s true. He murdered his wife and her lover, plus his kid. We’ve been tracking him deep cover back to this area, so I need access to this property.”

  The landlord looked shocked, it was definitely clear to John that he had swallowed the whole story,

  “Look either you let me in, or I come back with a warrant. Which do you want?”

  It was enough; promptly the landlord left the doorway going inside slightly to pick something up. Coming out with a spare set of keys he led John over to the Old Fisheries cottage, opening up the front door easily,

  “I’ll leave you to it.” He said as he left John alone in the entrance. Shutting the door behind him he was glad the ruse worked, as he wasn’t even sure the lie would be believable. Observing the surroundings John was faced with a rather benign scene, a large country style living room, a stone fireplace, wooden beams spanning the ceiling, it was all very homely. A round table lay just off to the left hand side, which was busy with objects and covered by a table cloth, it instantly attracted attention. Walking over he picked up an empty glass placed beside a potted plant that formed the centrepiece of the table arrangement. Cut crystal, it certainly looked expensive but it wasn’t the design that interested John, it was the bottom. Upon examination a residue of a trace of a liquid could just be made out. Plunging his nose deep inside the glass the aroma of the golden brown substance could be instantly recognised,

  “Brandy.” He thought to himself. He knew from experience that Jack liked the occasional brandy now and then. It wasn’t proof but it was an indication of West’s possible presence. Deciding to explore the rest of the room, John moved away from the table slowly. Everything seemed in place despite the fact if was occupied, no real sings of disturbance as he walked across the living room and into the kitchen area. It wasn’t big, small and basic, a typical county kitchen in all aspects. However the sink was full, attracting the attention of John who moved in for closer examination. Two thirds of the way up was full of dirty water, sitting still and contrasting against the brilliant white of the ceramic,

  “That’s odd.” He thought.

  Making a mental note he explored the rest of the small area, again like the living room there was nothing else out of the ordinary, just tantalising clues to Jack’s presence. Pots and pans, ceramic jugs and other kitchen paraphernalia lined the shelves and cupboards,

  “Let’s try the bedrooms.” He thought; the Old Fisheries was a bungalow so everything was on the same floor, and being here before triggered his memory to the layout. Walking back through the living area to the opposite sides into a hallway he tried the largest bedroom first. Pushing open the old wooden door to reveal the same brightly lit room furnished with a double bed and sunlight clear windows. Given the size if Jack was here, this would most likely be his room. Again as in the other parts of the building he began searching, and again there seemed like nothing out of the ordinary,

  “If Jack is here, he’s going out of his way to hide it.” He said to himself. The bed itself was neatly made, the duvet was crisp and the pillows unruffled, the cupboards and drawers were devoid of clothes or luggage as John curiously examined inside,

  “Let’s look under the bed.” He said quietly as he got on his hands and knees on the laminated floor, lifting the sheets to reveal to daylight the underneath of the mattress, then he saw it,

  “Good god.” He said astonished. Reaching underneath, he stretched to grab hold. It was just about attainable as he pulled the box like structure out,

  “It’s a suitcase.” He said. It certainly wasn’t one that he recognised and this made him sow those slight seeds of doubt as to if Jack really was here or not. He examined the light grey leather case, running his hands over its smooth finish.

  “It’s got a combination lock.” He said as he noted the light silvery panel keeping the mechanism in place to deter any would be
thieves,

  “I hate these things.” He said as he sat on the bed suitcase in hand trying desperately to think as to what the three digit number might be. If this was Jack’s, surely there was a number that John would have come across in the past. He knew he had to guess it if he wanted to procure the contents inside. Racking his brains he tried to think, but nothing ever came to mind. It seemed that the harder he thought the more frustrating it became; eventually he gave up,

  “There’s got to be a better way than this.” He said to himself in a frustrated tone. Now the only option was to break in somehow, but to do this he clearly needed a tool, something to manipulate the lock from the inside. Putting the case on the bed he began searching round the room, nothing immediately sprang to mind, until he casually came across a paperclip. Pausing slightly he thought just for a second, before picking it up, holding in his hands he could see that it was just thin enough for his purpose. Partially unfolding it out to make a straight piece of length he hurried back to the case to insert the wire into the lock. It took some fiddling, but he could feel the tension in his hands, until finally it cracked. Now the mechanism was loose so something must have clicked inside enabling John to flick open the lock, radiating a heavy clunking noise which confirmed the breakthrough. Quickly he flicked the case open to reveal the contents but all that were inside were a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. Looking familiar they were slightly damp, as if they had not long since been washed,

  “These are the clothes Jack was wearing yesterday. Still damp, and that sink is full of dirty water. Doesn’t take an Einstein to figure out how they all fit together. Jack must be here; he must have removed these clothes and washed them to get rid of any forensic residue to link him to the bombing of the CIA house.”

  Standing up and leaving the suitcase on the bed john quickly paced back into the living room with renewed vigour. Now that he knew that West definitely was here he could now concentrate all his efforts solely into determining the whereabouts of his partner; upon entering the room, the first place he went to was back to the table he had been to before,

  “Perhaps there’s something on this table.” He said to himself. Surely there must have been something that he may have missed first time round. Upon the initial glance nothing else had been touched, yet there was something still not right about the arrangement. Looking closer, and the more he observed the more something seemed ever more out of place,

  “That potted plant!! It isn’t straight! I thought it wasn’t right the first time round, the centres been disturbed. I knew it!”

  Acting purely upon a hunch he rolled his sleeves up and plunged his hand into the soil. Its earthy dampness permeated through his hand in a cold, tingly feeling as his fingers thrust deeper into the pot. Then he felt something,

  “What’s this?” As he pulled out a small cylindrical metallic object,

  “A key, yet another one.” He said holding it up in his hands in front of his eyes. This one however was slightly different to the ones he had come across before; it was smaller, like it was for something other than a safe,

  “This is a key to a strongbox.” He deduced. Immediately he went on the hunt. Looking everywhere, he turned the place upside down in a kind of feverish frenzy, first in the living room, then the kitchen area once again. Nothing was safe, everything in cupboards, on work tops and shelves were moved and examined in the hunt for this missing strongbox. Looking upon a high shelf in the corner of the room was one of the last places he looked; upon the shelf were two silver cooking pots which to the suspicious mind looked like the ideal place to hide something impromptu so John removed them to see if there was anything behind there. There wasn’t anything else he found in other places and this was one of the last few corners he still had to examine. Bingo, as soon as he pushed aside the first pot a green metallic box could be seen. John removed it and brought it to the worktop beside the sink,

  “Right let’s see what you have been hiding.” He said to himself as he pulled the recently discovered key into the little keyhole at the front. It was a perfect fit as he turned it a quarter of a turn clockwise. Eager to see the contents he opened the lit to be faced with a solitary item, a piece of paper with writing and prices typed on it,

  “A train ticket?” He said as he picked it up. It bore the name of the destination,

  “Birmingham. A single fare ticket from Luton to Birmingham. So that’s where he is heading. But why?”

  “So you found it then.” Said a voice from behind. Reactively John spun round to see who it was,

  “Jack!” He said, as he stared. It was indeed West, standing in the kitchen doorway in front of him. The two men faced each other off for a second or two before John broke the silence,

  “So, this is where you got to. Good job I found you before you headed off to the midlands.”

  “You don’t understand…” Replied West,

  “Oh I understand perfectly Jack. I understand that you are a rogue agent; I understand that I have been de-classified and questioned as a suspect because you are going off on your own!! So come one Jack, why the secrets? Why the bloody hell did you plant a bomb in the CIA safe house? Been taking advice from your old friend Maxwell Grey have you?”

  As much as he didn’t want to, West could only afford a moot response,

  “Look…I cannot say anything yet.”

  The response didn’t cut a lot of ice with John, “You know me just being here is illegal. I’m breaking the law just being over here to find you!!”

  “So you found the clue I left for you…The Old Fisheries label. I knew you would remember.”

  John knew exactly what he was getting at, “Yes I thought as much. Somehow I had a feeling you wanted me to find you, and no I didn’t tell MI5 this lead. If I did you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”

  John now a little calmer wanted more answers, “So, what’s with the train ticket to Birmingham then Jack? You planning to outrun the security services then?

  Jack smiled slightly, “On the contrary, I did anticipate the authorities investigating and then tailing you, so I intend to send them in the wrong direction.”

  “What?” Asked John confused,

  “That ticket is a decoy to make MI5 think I have travelled to Birmingham. In fact I have no intention of going there at all, however I do need to go somewhere else, and I just wanted to divert any unwanted attention.”

  “Where are you going Jack?” Asked John tentatively. At this point he realised he wasn’t armed, and given the erratic behaviour of his friend recently, he very well could have a weapon,

  “Colchester, or at least the outskirts.”

  “Colchester? Why the bloody hell do you need to go to Colchester for?”

  “I just need to go,” Jack replied, “But I have to leave immediately.”

  John straight away stepped in, “Oh no, I lost you once and nearly went for the high jump, so I’m not letting you go again. I don’t know what the hell is going on anymore, but wherever you go, I’m following from now on. No arguments!!”

  Smiling, this was exactly the response he expected from his partner,

  “Somehow I knew you would. That’s fine, you can come along, but I have to warn you, the lead I’m following is going to put us in a pretty dangerous situation. There’s no guarantee of survival, I’m not exaggerating that John. Do you understand what I am saying to you?”

  Looking his partner in the eyes he knew he was telling the truth this time,

  “I understand.”

  “Good. Now I have a train ticked bound for Colchester today, I suggest we move swiftly if we are to make good time.”

  They began to vacate the cottage. As they left for the train station John felt that now the enemy was becoming unclear, was it Jack? Was it Grey or Bruenstein? Or was it all three? But now MI5 were also in the equation. Just by being here he knew he had made enemy of the security services, and that made him feel like a fugitive himself. But he was in this too deep, if he turned back now
all he could expect was a prison sentence. Onwards and his dubious trust in Jack West seemed to be John Hudson’s only option.

  Chapter 17:

  Both men arrived in Colchester in good time, the trains certainly seemed efficient today, as were the local bus services. Stopping off as close to the objective as the route allowed, Jack still did not divulge where they were going as both men walked down an industrial looking street close to the River Colne,

  “Where the hell are we going Jack?” Asked John,

  “You will see, not far now.”

  They were heading down toward the river’s edge past some industrial sheds; it was becoming increasingly clear to John that Jack was leading him down toward some kind of industrial installation,

  “Is this the dockyards?” He asked while following West,

  “Yes, but our business is over there.”

  They stopped beside a shed in front of a large distinctive red bricked two story building. It stood out amongst some of them more fabricated semi-modern buildings in both colour and style at the water’s edge,

  “Is that where we are heading?” Asked John,

  “Yes, but here, take this, we’ll need them.” Said Jack as he handed his partner one of the Walther P99 pistols they had previously used in Southampton,

  “You did not take these back?” Asked John,

  “No.” Was the reply. It only served to fuel John’s suspicions even further, “I never gave them back, now take this one it’s fully loaded, I’ll have the other.”

  They approached the brick warehouse in casual manner, the dockyards themselves seemed rather deserted for the time of day as they went down to it,

  “We definitely need to split up at this point.” Whispered Jack quietly. John did not fully understand why but he was prepared to accept the strategy,