Lost Souls

by Michael Knaggs

  In one of the forward-most cabins on the starboard side, the young man gripped the bars on the door of his cabin, paling the knuckles of his dark skin. He was tall and athletic, with broad shoulders and a slim waist. The expression of anxiety on his handsome features made him look older than his nineteen years. His normally bright eyes were glazed over in thought. He was thinking about a beautiful girl with long white-blonde hair. A girl he loved more then life, and who loved him with the same intensity. A girl he had made a promise to; a promise that someday they would be together again. It was a promise he was in the process of breaking.

  He felt his stomach react as the vessel began to turn. It brought him out of his trance and he noticed an air of excitement among the guards coming and going onto the prisoner deck from above. He heard words exchanged in low voices; a few anxious expressions and darting eyes. The prisoner deck had become unnaturally silent as the others had sensed the tense atmosphere. Above the sound of the ship’s engines, he thought he could hear those of an aircraft – getting louder.

  *

  The two men watched the huge vessel take shape in front of them as they closed in on it, unaware that twenty thousand feet above them the first Typhoon was rolling lazily on its axis and preparing to drop vertically into its deadly stoop.

  There was no warning of its approach until the moment it plunged across the charter jet’s flight path less than fifty yards in front of it. Its passing was so close that the sound of the plane reached them in the Cessna’s cockpit as a deafening explosion at the same instant that it blotted out their view ahead.

  A millisecond later they hit the fighter’s jet-stream, rolling and bouncing as the waves of sound from above broke over them, smothering them in a blanket of noise. Both men cried out involuntarily in shock and momentary panic as Josh fought to steady the aircraft. As he brought it under control, the second fighter screeched past them even closer than the first and with the same thunderous, destabilising effect.

  They scanned the airspace below and around them for the fighters’ next move. Tom recovered quickly.

  “It’s okay, Josh. We’ll be fine.” He reached over and grabbed the pilot’s shoulder to steady him, pointing ahead. “F2s,” he said. “They’re going away – look.”

  The Typhoons had climbed back to the same altitude as the Cessna and were racing away, one behind the other, half a mile apart and two miles south-west of them, on a bearing exactly the same as theirs. Tom and Josh watched them diminish in size until they had almost disappeared – the smallest of dots against the sky. Then they both veered right, still the same distance apart and with perfect synchronisation through a 180-degree arc, to bring them into a head-on approach with the charter jet.

  “Jesus! Now what?” Josh’s shaking voice was barely above a whisper.

  Tom watched, fascinated by the tactical scenario unfolding in front of him and detached from its implications for his personal welfare. He was back with the military, appraising the enemy’s performance.

  The fighters were a single dot now, growing at an alarming rate directly in front of them. Tom looked down again at the vessel, no more than five miles away.

  “I said – now what?” Josh was shouting this time. The dot had separated into two, a smaller one slightly below the other.

  “Hold this exact bearing,” Tom said. “They’ll miss us.”

  The first Typhoon took shape, filled the cockpit windscreen and was gone, passing within a few feet over the top of the Cessna. The other passed below it, just as close, one second later. The fighters had crossed with the Cessna at a combined speed of around 1,600 miles an hour, and the noise was deafening as they flew through the rush of sound, accentuated by the shock of the turbulence.

  As Josh stabilised the aircraft, Tom pointed down at the transfer vessel now within a couple of miles.

  “Just hold this course and give me thirty seconds. Then you can do what you like.”

  He went through into the passenger compartment. Josh turned and watched in disbelief as Tom struggled into the parachute.

  “What the fuck do you think…?”

  The radio exploded into life.

  “This is Seeker One to Space Invader. You have one minute to alter your course to return to Heathrow. If you do not comply, we will shoot you down. Do you copy? Over.”

  Josh hesitated for a split second only. “Copy. Will comply. Over.”

  “Timing from now, Space Invader. Staying in contact for countdown.”

  Josh turned his attention back to Tom.

  “You’re mad! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Tom was beside him again in the cock-pit looking down at the sea below as the Cessna was about to pass over the vessel.

  “I’m getting off.”

  “The fuck you are! I’m turning back…”

  “Forty seconds, Space Invader!”

  “Hold it steady!”

  Tom reached for the controls, grabbing Josh’s hands and holding them in place to maintain their bearing. Bracing his feet against the floor, Josh pushed hard backwards, causing Tom to lose his grip and forcing him to back away from him. Tom lunged forward again, his forehead meeting Josh’s elbow as he swung it at him with everything he had. Tom fell back out of the cockpit onto the cabin floor, momentarily dazed, and then scrambled to his feet, reaching for the exterior door on the left side of the plane. He grasped the locking wheel.

  “Twenty seconds, Space Invader!”

  “Tom, for pity’s sake…”

  Tom began to release the door, his face a mask of manic concentration.

  “Ten seconds.”

  One of the F2s had taken up a position immediately behind them.

  “Tom, please!”

  “Five, four…”

  Josh turned the Cessna to the right, diving as he did so. Tom fell away from the door, crashing against the spare seat behind him and catching the side of his head on the drinks cabinet. He struggled to his feet, but slumped down again onto the floor. He lay still for what seemed like a long time.

  “Tom, are you okay?”

  Josh’s voice seemed to be coming from a mile away. He dragged himself into a sitting position, his legs stretched in front of him, leaning back against the folded seat. It was a full minute before he struggled to his feet and slipped off the parachute, before slumping into one of the passenger seats.

  “Yes, I’m okay,” he said, in a small voice shaking with both relief and disappointment.

  “We’ve got company,” Josh said.

  Tom looked out of his window. On the left of the aircraft, one of the F2s was flying with its wing-tip almost touching that of the Cessna. He looked across to the right. The second fighter was in the same position on the other side.

  “I thought only MiGs did this sort of thing,” Josh said.

  Tom leaned back in his seat. His head hurt where he had hit the cabinet. He closed his eyes.

  *

  Jo walked up the driveway of Dagger’s apartment block where Tina was waiting for her near the entrance.

  “Ready, ma-am?”

  Jo nodded and Tina reached for the button on the panel beside the door. Jo’s phone sounded.

  “Hold on a second, Tina” She pressed the answer key. “Hello, DI Cottrell.”

  “Terry Medwin here, ma’am. Just thought you’d like to know, the bullets that killed Mickey Kadawe were fired from a high-powered rifle. Doc White reckons that from the angle of entry the killer was most likely on top of a high building around two hundred metres away from the court. That would possibly put him on the same street where Alison Brennan was when the hit took place.”

  Jo smiled and gave Tina a thumbs-up sign.

  “Meaning, Terry?”

  “Well, it’s certain that neither of the two people she saw could have been inv
olved.”

  “Thank you, Terry. You’ve made my day.”

  “One other thing, ma’am. The SOCOs found another bullet. Apparently three shots were fired.”

  *

  Katey checked her mobile at the end of afternoon lectures at 4.00 pm and picked up the voice message from Catrina. She phoned her straight away.

  “Cat! What the hell’s happened?”

  “Somebody shot him, Katey. Right there on the steps of the court. I think it might have been your dad!”

  “Shot who? Mickey? My dad! Oh, please God, no! You mean you were there; you saw it?”

  “Yes, me and Dags. We went along to watch him go in. You know to make sure he really was… Oh, I don’t know why we went really, but…”

  “Yes, but what actually happened, Cat? Did you see my dad shoot Mickey?”

  She had slumped to a sitting position in the corridor, her back against the wall, both her posture and words attracting anxious glances from other students.

  “Well, he was shouting at Mickey, right up close to him. That police woman, Jo, was holding him back. Then your dad’s arm came up, like he was pointing at him and Mickey shot backwards. There was blood on his shirt and jacket. Then your dad and Jo sort of fell to the ground and… well, we turned and ran. I don’t know why really.”

  “Was he dead – Mickey? Could you tell?”

  “Not then, but we went back about ten minutes later and he was still on the ground. There was no-one attending to him – I mean, like paramedics looking after him. Then some police started putting screens round him and we left again. I think he is, Katey. I think he’s dead.”

  “Cat, I’ll phone you back.”

  Katey was close to throwing up. She struggled to her feet and ran for the ladies’ room, making it just in time and feeling a little more in control afterwards. Instead of calling Cat she phoned Guildford New Station, giving her name and asking to speak to John Mackay.

  “Hi, Katey,” he said, “how are you feeling? Look, I’m really sorry about everything that’s happened. If there’s anything I can do …”

  His friendly greeting took her by surprise. Even so, her words came out in a torrent.

  “I’ve just heard about Mickey Kadawe, about the shooting. I heard my dad was involved. Is he okay? I was so worried…”

  “Slow down, Katey. He’s fine.”

  “Oh, thank God! And Mickey?”

  “Dead, I’m afraid. How did you find out about it so soon? We haven’t released any details yet.”

  “Cat Thompson was there at the court. She saw what happened and phoned me; left a message. What was my dad doing there? She said it looked like he’d shot Mickey.”

  “Well he didn’t. Long range shot from a high-powered rifle. I’m not sure exactly why he was there but he wasn’t anything to do with the shooting. In fact, you’ve not long missed him. He left me a while ago to meet with Detective Inspector Cottrell. But tell me, Katey, did Miss Thompson say why she was there?”

  “Morbid curiosity, I expect,” she said.

  “I suppose so,” said John. “But I wonder how she knew he was going to be taken to court at that time. Ah well, I suppose there’s some simple explanation. And remember, I meant what I said; if there is anything I can do, Katey, you only have to ask.”

  “Thank you, Mr Mackay.”

  She ended the call and phoned Cat.

  *

  Mags jumped up from her seat in surprise as the door to the front sitting room suddenly opened. She had been deep in thought and hadn’t heard her daughter enter the house.

  “God, Katey, you scared the life out of me.” She checked her watch. “Has this stopped or have you? Don’t you have a lecture this evening?”

  “Listen, Mum. Something’s happened. I don’t know whether it’s good or bad, but… Well, Mickey Kadawe’s been killed. Shot dead outside the magistrate’s court.”

  Mags flopped back down onto her chair, hand on heart. “How? Why?”

  “Dad was there,” Katey continued. “But he didn’t do anything,” she added, quickly, seeing the look of anxiety on Mags’s face. “A sniper they think. But it’s a wonder he didn’t get shot as well – and Jo Cottrell. They were all close together when it happened.”

  “What on Earth was he doing, for God’s sake?” Mags put her head in her hands. “What’s going to happen next, Katey? When is all this going to end?”

  “I don’t know, Mum, but there’s something else you need to know.”

  Mags looked up. “Something else?”

  “Yes. It’s about why – I mean, if Mickey did set up Jason and Jack – why he did it.” She knelt down next to Mags and took her hands in hers. “It seems Mickey had an obsession – with me. I can see it now when I look back – all the little signs, the comments, the touching. Always when Jason wasn’t there; when we were on our own. I thought he was just being – you know – mischievous, just having a joke. But I can see now that it was much more than that.”

  Mags looked at her, her brow creased in a frown.

  “I’m not sure I see…”

  “Well, when Dad said, right at the start, it was Mickey, I didn’t even consider it, because there seemed no reason why he would do all that. He was best friends with all of us. But I can see it now. I’ve no idea how he did it, but I can understand why now. It all fits – he wanted me – so he had to get rid of Jason.”

  Mags was shaking her head

  “Even if that’s true, Katey, your father has to shoulder the responsibility for Jack’s death. I don’t know what Mickey Kadawe’s original intentions were for Jack and Jason, but we do know they were not to send them into permanent exile. All his scheming and plotting – if it’s true – must have started long before he knew they would be put away for good. If your father had not taken the – well, let’s face it – unilateral stance on changing the sentencing laws for drug-dealers, Jack would be alive and serving a relatively short custodial sentence as a first offender. If he had listened to the public response to that change and climbed down off his bloody high horse…”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Katey shouted, springing to her feet. “That’s absolutely irrelevant. The whole point, and the only relevant issue here, is that Jack wasn’t the target – he was the collateral damage. It was Jason he wanted to get – to discredit him enough for me to ditch him or whatever. Jason – not Jack – and because of me. They were so close that Mickey would have had to involve both of them. No-one would believe that Jason could have been dealing without Jack knowing, so he needed to include Jack in the set-up. If anyone is responsible for what happened to my brother, it’s me – and you, if you like. Not Dad – definitely not him! How many times did he tell us it was bound to end in trouble? ‘Nothing but bad things will come out of this relationship.’ Those were his exact words. He said them over and over again. And we just dismissed them – me, and Jack, and you! He couldn’t have done more to avoid this. All he needed was for us – even just one of us – to listen to him!”

  “Don’t go all grown-up on me now, Katey,” Mags said. “I have to blame somebody for all that’s happened.”

  They were silent for a few moments, both breathing heavily with the emotion of the exchange.

  “Okay, Mum, then make it me. Blame me – I can accept that. But think about your part in it as well. If you’d have supported Dad instead of taking the popular way out every time and siding with us no matter what, Jack would have been here with us right now, never mind serving a short custodial sentence.”

  Mags rose from her seat, eyes wide with hurt and anguish, tears welling, and rushed past her through the hall and up the stairs.

  *

  The Eurofighters disengaged as they crossed the border. One of the pilots saluted Josh just prior to his peeling away, grateful no doubt that they had not bee
n required to take that terminal step. Tom came forward and slumped back into the seat next to Josh. He had remained silent in the passenger cabin since the F2s had settled on their wings, and it had suited both men not to speak following the drama of that critical moment.

  It was the pilot who broke the silence.

  “Would you mind telling me now what that was all about? What the hell were you hoping to achieve?”

  Tom took his time to reply.

  “There’s someone on that vessel who shouldn’t be there, I wanted to get him off.”

  “Get him off! How the hell were you going to do that?”

  “Okay, then, keep him on. Make sure he stayed on and went back with the ship.”

  “Same question, Tom. How…”

  “I just needed to get on board, that’s all.”

  “That’s all! Are you seriously suggesting that I could drop you by parachute onto that boat?”

  “Not necessarily on – just near would have been okay. In the sea in front of it. They would have had to pick me up.”

  “Jesus, Tom. What is wrong with you? By the time they’d have got you – if they could get you – you could have frozen to death. Jesus Christ…!” He ran out of words.

  “I just wanted to get to Lochshore, Josh. I thought I could get them to agree to it if I was there. You know, to contact the vessel and tell them to bring him back. I have friends… At least I had friends …” His voice tailed off. “The parachute was Plan B – I never really thought I’d need it, but we were so close.”

  He slumped forward, his head dropping in to his hands, feigning tiredness while trying to hold back tears. Josh looked across at him.

  “Get some rest in the back, Tom, if you like. We’ll be another twenty minutes or so. God knows what will be waiting for us when we get back. Police, army, both… What do you think?” Tom said nothing. “You can thank me when we get out of prison for doing you a favour. For saving your life.”