Tim Heath Thriller Boxset

by Tim Heath

  The vision came at around six in the morning and would last just seconds in real time, but seemed like much longer.

  “Wake up!” came the call, as John suddenly opened his eyes, in that same large building he remembered too well.

  “It's time!” came the second command; the voice sounded around him, but it was unclear from where it was coming. Felix was nowhere in sight, nor was it his voice. This was something different.

  “It's happening. Today! You have seen it already. You have been warned. You know what you need to do. Today is the day of salvation. Today is the day of your sacrifice. You have seen this, John, and you know what to do. Get ready. The world needs you. The world needs what you know. It's started, John. Watch the news. It's happening now. Now wake up, and do what you need to do. Wake up, John. It's time!”

  The room went black, and that once forgotten feeling of falling returned with force more significant than he knew, as the image vanished and the sensation of plummeting again returned. He opened his eyes with a start. Lorna was not in sight but, hearing his call, she came running into the room. She'd been waiting in the corridor outside, unable to sleep. She had been crying for most of the night, though she tried not to show it at that moment.

  “Turn on the TV!” he shouted. “It's happening today! I've had another vision!” There was a new urgency in his voice. She'd not seen it before.

  She switched on what appeared to be live news feeds reporting on destruction and fire.

  “Oh my God!” he said. “This is what I saw! It's really happening!”

  His heart rate was racing, great drops of sweat were running across his forehead. Lorna came over and helped calm him, carefully disconnecting the cord that was attached to his head, freeing him from the last wires that kept him trapped. She knew that the effects of the drugs would wear off soon and his body would once again be his own. He calmed noticeably then images of a burning building filled the screen once again.

  “I thought I had to stop this!” he said.

  “Maybe you still can?”

  “I need to get up.”

  He pulled himself around carefully, Lorna helping him to get to a sitting position. He paused there for a while so that he wouldn't get dizzy.

  “I'm petrified, John,” Lorna said, as John sat on the edge of the bed next to her.

  “It's okay, and it's all going to work out.” John had no way of really knowing that, but he wanted to say something to Lorna. He could see there was something in her eyes. Fear maybe, but not shock. He was pondering that for a moment when she helped him stand so that they were face to face. She kissed him gently on the lips, before pulling away. His body came alive, her kiss like touching the mains power supply. She kissed him again, passionately, pulling his head into hers, holding it there for a few seconds. He was short of air but didn't care at that moment. It seemed like an eternity like time was standing still before she once again pulled away.

  “I'm just so proud of you. I'm scared but full of hope all at the same time. All because of you.”

  “Wow,” he said. “I'll do this for you, Lorna. I'll do this to save you. Do you hear me?”

  “I do, John. And I know.” With that, she kissed him again, much more gently this time, and less intensely, much to John's disappointment.

  Ten minutes later John was ready, Lorna helping him put on his shoes, the first time he'd worn anything that heavy in as long as he could remember. The clothes themselves felt strange. Spending nearly two months in a hospital gown had been an experience itself.

  The news from the television, continually playing in the background, was reporting the doom and gloom. A helicopter was seen going down, though the footage had only been from the outside. They'd been careful, when putting the selection together, not to use anything that had been included in the visions. To have done so, they deemed, would have been foolish.

  At five minutes past seven, John was ready to leave the room. A room to which he would never return. All that faced him was lying heavy on his heart at that moment, but John was happy to have Lorna by his side. Their kiss would be the memory he would take with him when all others got forgotten. John felt confused, felt he was dreaming. But John was also prepared to play out the dream as if life itself didn't matter anymore as if his life was already over. He was on his way to the winner's enclosure. On his way to receive his reward. And he was now starting that journey, with Lorna by his side.

  “Here, take this,” Lorna said, placing what looked like a mobile phone in his hands. There was a set of headphones already connected to the device, which hung down as she passed them to John. “This way, we can speak. You can talk with me all the way, even when we've parted company. I'll be with you.”

  “Thanks,” was all he could think to say, taking the device, giving it a quick look over, before placing it in his coat pocket. The earpiece was already in his right ear. Thoughts were now racing full speed through his tired mind, questions he could not answer.

  Three Weeks Ago

  The bag containing the million pounds was carried in slowly, its bug and tracking device already stripped out some miles away. It was eventually placed on a small plastic table that had been pushed against a side wall. None of the furniture in the room matched; it was just a safe house, something put together very quickly. All countries had their own, countless thousands of homes and buildings around the world acting as havens in the midst of some of the most significant cities in the world.

  Inside this particular one, along with the bag of money and the middle-aged Southern European man who had brought it in, stood three other figures. High ranking security personnel and, as far as the British were concerned, unknown players in this unusual game.

  “Has everything gone to plan?” one man said to another, in fluent Mandarin.

  “Yes, entirely. The British took the bait, thinking they've scored a real intelligence coup. The device has already been tested at Thames House.”

  “Very good. Let's keep a close watch on things.”

  “And what about these Africans?”

  “They become the enemy, to the British. They do not know what is really going on, nor the danger this would do to the world if the situation here gets out of hand. They cannot be allowed to get to this John Westlake.”

  “But they are getting closer. We think they will attack the hospital. We've been tracking eight of their special forces.”

  The most senior Chinese official turned to a man who had been silent up to now, a man more used to the shadows. Their most experienced, and talented secret weapon. The official said to him:

  “I want you to tag these people, and if they make a move on this patient, you are to stop them. Do what you do best. Do not risk your own identity. I would suggest getting them when they are already in the hospital. Leave most of them alive. We've forged some paperwork that will give their identity away. It will make the British focus on them, question them, torture them, no doubt. Kill the general. I've never liked him anyway. Now go.”

  The Shadow Man didn't say a word, taking in everything he was commanded to do, saluting, and then turning; he was gone. Vanishing into the shadows of that room, and away from sight.

  “So now we wait. The British are certainly going to try their plan, and sooner rather than later. Radioactive readouts from the crash site have been rising steadily for the last two weeks. News cannot be kept quiet forever.”

  “We have everything in place, sir. Everyone and everything working as it needs to work. We'll be gone before they know what's hit them. They'll just be glad this situation has gone away.”

  “They'd better get it under control. Otherwise, we risk losing what we came for, and if we are still in the country, should it all explode, we would never get away. We would go down with the whole thieving nation.” He spat on the ground as if even the words passing through his mouth brought a bad taste. “That cannot be allowed to happen.”

  “It will not be allowed, sir. You have my word.”

  “G
ood.”

  They broke from speaking among themselves, the language unintelligible to the middle-aged delivery guy anyway, and said to him in perfect English.

  “Thank you for your part in all this. Please, be our guest and take the bag with you for payment. The money is used notes, non-consecutive serial numbers, as we'd requested. You've performed a good service for us. See that nothing ever gets said; otherwise, that man who you just saw leave will find you. If that happens, everyone who you have ever loved will be shot in front of you. Do you understand me?”

  “Perfectly,” he said, unsure of whether he would walk out the room alive himself. But he picked up the bag anyway, and made his way regardless, only checking over his shoulder as he left the main doors. No one was following. But he would certainly listen to their warning. With a million pounds, he would move far away from there, as soon as possible, and start a new life.

  Present Day

  It was approaching ten in the morning. John had been transported, at speed, through the streets, for what seemed like ages. The windows were blacked out, and his identity kept secret. If anyone was out there watching him, John was unaware of it. Lorna was holding his hand all the way.

  In Berlin, as well as the capitals of Nigeria and South Africa, the African secret service was listening in, the only possible action left to them. Their bugs and devices, planted generously around the London, were still bringing in some information. They too were aware John was now on the move. Nothing had yet been said that would cause them to fear. The longer that continued, the better. British forces were not moving anywhere, their focus entirely on the UK, helping the recovery effort. As long as it stayed that way, the Africans would melt away into the background, making a quiet exit as possible. The seven operatives held in an American terrorist camp were lost to them. If they could get to them now, they would, but only to put a bullet in each head. Partly to end the misery, but mainly to stop the risk of one of them saying anything. Maybe one person would cut a deal, dropping everyone in it to save themselves? They could only imagine the Americans' tactics, playing each one off against the others, seeing who would be the first to take the bait. The longer they had them, the higher the risk.

  The Chinese, too, were watching––far closer than the Africans, and much closer than the British who were still totally unaware of Chinese involvement.

  MI5 were also watching the situation, of course. Brought up to speed only after the program had first been tested, they saw the potential straight away. A lot was riding on the success of this mission, and they would not allow anything to go wrong now. They watched the convoy working its way south. Half an hour ago they had crossed the lines that kept people out and were still one mile from the crash site.

  “How do you feel?” Lorna asked John, breaking the silence, as the vehicle now slowed and worked its way around something.

  “Like I'm in a dream, I guess.” John had become noticeably more serious the longer the journey had been going.

  “I know you can do this, John.”

  “Thanks,” but there was nothing more he could respond. So he changed the subject.

  “It's been a crazy few weeks,” he said.

  “It sure has.”

  “How long was it that I was in the hospital, exactly?”

  “Today was day fifty-seven,” Lorna said, turning to him, her hand on his left knee.

  There was still so much John didn't understand. Why was he there in the first place? Who had he once been? His whole memory, short as it was, consisted of his time with Lorna, in that small hospital room, with the addition of those courtyard walks over the last couple of weeks. His mind drifted to that yard and the doubts that had arisen. Those questions, that confusion. He remembered the smell and the darkness, even though it was during the afternoon. He thought about that morning's television, the vision in his sleep, Lorna's constant care for him, and this high-speed convoy, windows blacked out, through the streets of the city. The most telling thing had been Lorna's reaction that morning, or more to the point, lack of response. No one accepted something that disastrous that quickly. But she'd taken it all as readily as she had accepted the visions in the first place. It was what had drawn him so close to her right from the beginning. She had believed him. And yet, now, his mind was processing all this and coming up with some random thoughts. He fought those feelings at that moment, to remain, mentally at least, in the car with Lorna. He still had more he wanted to say.

  “I still have no memory of who I once was, but can I tell you, even though all I now remember is you, I wouldn't change that for the world, Lorna.” He paused for a moment.

  “So this is it...” he said, not sure how to continue. “This is the moment of truth. Do you think it will be as I saw it exactly?”

  “They've proved true for you so far, John. You really were that Prophet about whom the visions spoke. I'm sure it will be exactly what you saw. Why wouldn't it?”

  That made sense, while at the same moment making no sense at all.

  “This is rather surreal, isn't it?” he said.

  “What do you mean?” But she was starting to understand exactly what he meant already.

  “I mean, you and me, in a car, going somewhere that weeks ago seemed to appear to me in a vision. If the visions are to be believed, the lives of millions of people are in danger, I mean, must already be in danger at this very moment. And I need to save them. Somehow, in me, for some reason, rests the ability to make a difference. It's more than just the knowledge of what is going to happen; there must be some divine force at work or something?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she said, not very convincingly. “But that's what makes me so proud of you, John. That, without even all the answers, you are willing to put yourself in that place, to make yourself available to rescue all those people. To save us.” She couldn't bring herself to use the word sacrifice or anything linked to death. It felt too raw to her at that moment, and she didn't know how she'd handle it.

  “But I'm about to die,” he said, as sudden and sombre as that.

  “Yes, you are, John,” Lorna said, a tear in her eyes, but her voice was steady, it still had energy. She surprised herself.

  “Have you thought about what happens after death?” John said.

  “No, I don't think I have really.”

  “And yet, you must have been around it for so long, working as a nurse as you are? Doesn't that seem strange to you?”

  “Not really. My work is dealing with the living. What happens after death is not really my domain.”

  “I guess not. I guess for me I really have to think about it. It's not something I can put off, is it? Getting to terms with what is about to happen, for me, is a big part of getting through it all.”

  “I wonder if there is nothing.”

  “How could there be nothing?” he said, wanting to dig a bit, for the first time apparently coming at something from the opposite side to Lorna.

  “I mean, most people don't believe in anything after death, so I'm just saying.”

  “Do they really, though, or is that just the easy answer? What do you believe, Lorna?”

  “I don't believe there is anything, John,” she said, all too automatic. She was being less guarded now in her responses, as if the further they got from the hospital, and nearer to the conclusion, the less it mattered. That time was too short, too pressing, to waste it picking her words carefully––and yet she'd walked right into John's trap.

  “How can you say that, Lorna, when you've been with me through these visions? These premonitions. How could you still say there is nothing more than the physical?”

  “Those are different,” she said––again without thinking––speaking off the cuff, and instantly realising what she'd said. A silence fell in the car at that moment. It was an awkward silence, one that Lorna desperately wanted ending with every fibre of her being. But she didn't have anything intelligent to say. She feared John was piecing it all together, was processing things in his mind
now. What was he thinking? What conclusion was he reaching? The silence dragged on for a few minutes, and it wasn't as if they could spend that time looking out of the window since the windows were blacked out on both sides.

  John was continuing to puzzle over it all. Everything in him was telling him something wasn't adding up. Some inner sense, an unknown, or forgotten, ability maybe. Stitching the pieces together; the odd phrase here, an expression there. The surroundings, the sounds, the smells. It was all starting to paint a slightly different picture from the one he had been led to believe, but he couldn't put his finger on precisely what it was, or what was happening. It was as if his subconscious thoughts were pressing through to become conscious, ideas that could then affect his actions.

  Finally, John turned to Lorna and, moving closer to her, whispered in her ear:

  “Is this a game?”

  She turned to him suddenly, slight shock on her face, but she was able to control her response quite well.

  “What?”

  “Is this some game, some kind of reality show?” he said, still whispering in her ear.

  “I don't know what you mean, John. It is really happening, this is now, and this is urgent.”

  It was all beginning to sound staged, scripted even. John would have gone on questioning, had it not been for the car stopping at that precise moment and an instruction was given that they were now there. They were as far as they could go in that vehicle, and a change was needed. A side door of the car was opened, and light poured in, but it was from floodlights, not sunlight.