Hellfire- The Series, Volumes 1-3

by Leigh Barker

  “No, he is not,” the judge said. “However, I am inclined to give counsel for the prosecution a little leeway, but only a little. Objection overruled. Have the bailiff bring in the dog.”

  With a great deal of crashing of metal against fine oak doors, the bailiff entered, carrying a crate containing a white dog.

  “Have you seen this dog before, Mr Doyle?” Margaret asked, with a little smile as she mentally dangled the noose.

  Bob leaned forward from the dock for a better look. “Looks like the one I found before the cops… excuse me, Your Majesty, before the police arrested me.”

  The judge smiled again and waved the proceeding on.

  “You claim you found the dog?” Margaret asked loudly to squash the happy feelings the stupid judge was introducing to the courtroom.

  Yeah,” Bob said, wiggling his fingers at the mutt. “Rescued it, more like.”

  “You rescued it?” Margaret asked. “Please tell the court how you… rescued it.”

  “It was in the lake. In the park. In a sack,” Bob said, succinctly.

  “Yes, of course it was in a sack,” Margaret said with that little smile again. Just put your head in this noose. “Because that’s how you were carrying it. I put it to you that you stole this dog, Lady Druce-Wright’s dog—”

  Harvey stood up quickly. “Objection, there is no proof that this is Lady Druce-Wright’s dog.”

  “Sustained,” the judge said. “Can you furnish proof, Counsel?”

  Margaret hadn’t expected that and looked around for inspiration, and she saw it in Lady Lucinda. “Yes, m’lud. If the bailiff will open the cage, the dog will recognise Lady Druce-Wright, who is in court, and provide its own proof.”

  The judge signalled the bailiff. “Very well. Bailiff, release the dog.”

  Now that was a mistake.

  As soon as the bailiff opened the crate, the dog jumped out, snarling. The bailiff just managed to grab it by the scruff of its neck, from where it continued to try to bite any bit of him it could reach.

  Lady Lucinda jumped to her feet and leaned over the public gallery rail and clapped her hands in delight. “Oh, my little Puccini,” she cried gleefully. “Come to Mommy.”

  The dog found something to bite, and the bailiff dropped it and clutched his groin in shock, and a great deal of hope. The dog, now free, made a beeline for Lord George, while the other spectators, smelling trouble, started to get out as quickly as possible. Little dogs, especially posh little dogs, can be particularly vicious.

  The judge banged his gavel. “Order! Order or I shall clear the court.”

  Well, that didn’t work, particularly since the court was clearing itself.

  “Oh, Poochi-woochi,” Lady Lucinda cried. “Come to Mommy.” The dog ignored her completely, showing good sense. Instead it went straight for Lord George sitting next to her.

  Lady Lucinda was stunned. “What is the matter, Poochi? Why are you growling at Uncle George? You love Uncle Georgy.” She looked at the court officials and council and forced a frightening smile. “He does, you know.”

  The bailiff, now satisfied that everything was still where it was supposed to be, grabbed the dog by its collar and by its back, just to make sure its teeth stayed pointing forward.

  Lady Lucinda leaned even further over the rail and reached for the dog, but the loveable little doggie just wanted to get its teeth into Lord George.

  “I don’t understand it,” Lady Lucinda said, clearly stunned. “Poochi-woochi loves you, George. He’s always following you around and doing that thing to your leg.”

  The bailiff decided to return the gnashing monster to its equally crazy owner and handed it up to Lady Lucinda, while George tried to squeeze his ample mass further back into the small seat, as the dog bared its pointed teeth and strained against Lady Lucinda’s grip.

  “Get that damned mutt away from me!” he shouted as it made a wild dive for his throat. “I thought I was damn well rid of it—” He shut up quickly, but it was already too late.

  “What are you saying?” Lady Lucinda said, her face twisted in anger and suspicion, as only someone used to instant obedience can twist. “Did you throw Poochi into the lake?” She squinted at him and leaned forward. “You did, didn’t you?”

  George had managed to squirm out of his seat and was backing away towards the door.

  “You monster!” Lady Lucinda screamed at him. “How could you?” She stood up and pointed a long, immaculately manicured finger at him. “Oh, I see now. You took Puccini, and you took my jewels.” She took a step closer and pointed the finger at him like a dagger, while the mutt continued to struggle and gnash. “So that’s how you paid for your gambling after I stopped your allowance,” she hissed in a voice that could have cut glass. “You beast, you stole my jewellery!”

  Lord George went for the Hail Mary defence of the hopelessly cornered. “It was insured, wasn’t it?”

  “How could you?” she snarled. “And you allowed this poor man to take the blame. You wait till we get home.”

  She either released the dog, or it escaped, either way, same result. George barely made it to the door before it was gnawing on his ankle — that being the only bit it could reach.

  “M’lud,” Harvey said above the bedlam in the courtroom. “I believe I rest my case.”

  The judge tore his eyes off the sight in the public gallery and banged his gavel. “Case dismissed.”

  Harvey got out of the court as fast as he could, a little unseemly for a barrister, but this case was bordering on the surreal, and he just wanted to return to his chambers and relative normality. As he reached the doors, he looked back to see Lord George trying to escape the enraged dog while being beaten on the shoulders by Lady Lucinda’s umbrella.

  To Harvey, it all seemed a return to his student days and a bad acid trip, and he tried to put it out of his mind, now that he was sitting quietly at his desk in his office and reading the lead in the Times. He looked up as Bob entered and walked up to his desk, his hand extended.

  “Thanks for that, guv,” he said with a big grin.

  “Don’t start that guv stuff again,” Harvey said, standing and shaking the outstretched hand. “Anyway, it was the dog that got you acquitted, not me.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it was.” Bob shrugged, still smiling. “Oh well, I saved it, it saved me. Fair enough. But thanks anyway.”

  Harvey sat back down, and Bob stayed on his feet, too wired to sit.

  “I have just one question,” Harvey said, inclining his head.

  “Bet I can guess.”

  “Did you really rescue the dog?”

  That wasn’t the question Bob expected, but he took it anyway. “Oh yeah, it was in a sack.”

  Harvey’s brow wrinkled in suspicion. “Strikes me as a little… err… coincidental that you were in that park on that night, at just the right moment.”

  “No coincidence, guv,” Bob said, looking out of the window. “I followed old George and saw him throw the sack in the lake.”

  Harvey face said puzzled. “How did you see Lord George with the dog?”

  Bob strolled to the window and looked down at the damp courtyard. Nice place. He turned back to face Harvey and smiled. “I saw him bag the mutt after he let me in and handed me the bag of jewels.” He shrugged. “So I followed him.”

  “Lord George let you in? Into the house?” The wheels were turning at last. “So you followed him and rescued the dog? After you got the jewels?”

  “Yeah, that’s about it,” Bob said.

  Harvey was disappointed. “But you said you didn’t do it.”

  “No, guv,” Bob said, strolling back to the desk and smiling. “I said I didn’t break in.”

  Harvey nodded an exaggerated nod. “Ah, because Lord George let you in.” He sighed at the state of the world. “Rather tenuous, but nonetheless true.”

  Laura came in, put a cup of coffee on Harvey’s desk, and watched him look from the coffee to her and back suspiciously.


  “It’s just a loan,” she said and smiled at Bob. Happy memories.

  “A loan?” Harvey said, afraid to touch the coffee in case he was agreeing to something he would regret.

  “Yes,” Laura said, “you get to make me one later.” She looked back at him and his frown. “What? You think I’m the teaboy?”

  “She’s not a boy,” Bob said, looking pointedly at her not-boy bits. “Count on it.”

  Harvey shook his head sadly, and his eyes closed. There was that old feeling coming back.

  “Yeah, Lord George set it up,” Bob said, continuing his statement. “I took the jewels from the old goat, as agreed. I followed him to the lake and saw him sling the mutt into the water, then go off to his club for an alibi.”

  “And he tipped off the police,” Harvey said.

  Bob frowned and then looked genuinely surprised. “Hey, I suppose he did. I never thought of that. What a rat.” He tutted as it all became clear. “I wondered how come they turned up so fast.”

  “Never mind,” Laura said, perching on the edge of Harvey’s desk and ignoring his look. “He’ll get his from Lucinda, and you’re free.”

  Bob cheered up as quickly as a crying kid in a sweet shop. “Hey, right.” His brow wrinkled as he thought about it. “Does that mean I get to keep the loot?”

  Harvey’s mouth opened, but then clicked shut. “What?” he said at last.

  “If I’m innocent,” Bob said, “can I keep the stuff?”

  Laura laughed out loud. “You still have Lucinda’s jewels?”

  “Yeah,” Bob said, “they’re stashed under a flowerpot in the mad woman’s garden.”

  Harvey groaned and put his head in his hands. Here comes another long day. “I don’t want to hear this,” he said, exasperated.

  “Well, since the double jeopardy rule has been revoked,” Laura said, exercising her legal expertise, “you could be tried again for stealing them.”

  “Good job I didn’t steal them, then,” Bob said.

  Laura saw Harvey’s confused expression and jumped in before he decided to bang his head on the desk. “I believe what Bob is saying is, he left the jewels on Lady LDW’s property. So technically, they haven’t been stolen.”

  “Cool,” Bob said, “I get to keep the jewels.”

  “Go away, Bob,” Harvey said, picking up his newspaper in the hope of returning to normality through the eyes of honest reporters.

  Bob turned and headed for the door, stopped and winked at Laura, but she raised her hands and shook her head. Ah well, sometimes a fantasy works best when it’s not overdone. He closed the door behind him, and Harvey looked over the top of his paper, glad it was all finally over. Yes, it had been truly surreal.

  He took a sip of the coffee, which was awful and his expression said so. “So, lunch is on you today.”

  “That’s hardly fair,” Laura said, with a mock pout. “You didn’t win the wager. He did it, just like I said.”

  “Actually, Lord George did it. Bob was just the… err… patsy.”

  “Ah,” Laura said, surprised, “street-talk? Things are looking up.” She got off the desk and smoothed down her grey suit. “Anyway, the dog caught the villain.”

  “Perhaps,” Harvey said, “but the end justifies the means, particularly when the end is justice.”

  “Oh, please, give me a break. Nailing Lord Snooty is just the publicity you’re looking for to support your push to become a Law Lord.”

  Harvey was shocked, truly shocked. “Nothing,” he said, putting his hand on his heart, “could be further from my mind.”

  50

  Unlike the shooters, Lupus didn’t need the desolate expanse of Dartmoor to test his weapon. The Silver Fox drone, with a wingspan of only eight feet, was barely more than a large model plane, and although it might attract some envious looks, it wouldn’t raise any alerts, so could be tested somewhere quiet but not necessarily remote. He chose Richmond Park, mostly because it was an easy drive, and he didn’t drive well on the wrong side of the road, particularly in a hired panel van.

  He parked at the top of a small car park next to the woods and sat in the van for several minutes, watching the few people who were visiting the park on this cold, wet Wednesday. He decided this place would do just fine, got out the van, opened the back, and lifted the eleven-kilogram drone out and placed it carefully on the gravel. A couple walking past with their dog stopped for a moment and watched, but got bored and continued on to the park. The catapult launcher was more trouble, weighing thirty kilos and two metres in length, it was awkward for one man to pull it out of the van, and Lupus was grateful for the kind assistance of a cyclist, who was clad head to foot in high viz wear and later peddled away with his ass in the air.

  It took another ten minutes to assemble the drone and mount it on the catapult, during which time he had to field a few “watcha doing?” questions from people who should mind their own business. He told them it was a weather experiment, and that did the trick.

  Finally, he slid the flight control console to the van’s back door, opened the case, and powered it up. He was ready for the test and took a long look around to make sure there were no unwanted watchers. Satisfied he was as alone as it possible to be in the city, he released the bungee to send the Silver Fox into the air. The joystick felt alien in his fingers, but he managed to guide the drone out over the woods without crashing it into the trees. He watched the images on the console as it flew out to the edge of the park, executed a steep turn, dived, and hugged the ground across the deer park. With growing confidence, he put the plane through its paces for twenty minutes and felt perfectly at ease with the controls as he brought it down onto its belly skids in a near-perfect landing on the grassy clearing across the road.

  He took his time packing the drone and its support equipment, careful not to damage anything through careless haste.

  A couple of people had spoken to him, a couple more had watched the flight, but he’d tested the drone in the city of London without drawing any real attention. He was pleased with himself. But he shouldn’t have been.

  Sam took the call from the navy monitoring station and immediately called Ethan.

  “We got a hit on the drone,” he said, with as much excitement as he would have shown telling him it was raining.

  “Okay,” Ethan said, “he will have relocated by now, but get the data on the flight the bird made.”

  “Copy that,” Sam said. “Distance, direction, radius. It’s on the way to your phone.”

  “Thanks, Sam, and well done.”

  “Hey,” Sam said, “don’t thank me, it was those navy boys. Thank Lieutenant Command Lewis Druce. He was very cooperative.” Sam was chuckling.

  “Yeah, I bet he was,” Ethan said and rang off. Maybe this was the first real break in the hunt for Lupus, and right on cue, as the signing was scheduled for noon tomorrow.

  Harry stood at the base of the pillars at the road level of Tower Bridge with the cold wind off the river tugging at his thin jacket, but he was smiling. Turned out Laura wasn’t just a lawyer, but had a cool analytical brain, among other things. Now focus, man, less than twenty-four hours to crunch time. He looked downriver past Saint Katherine’s Pier, where the barge would turn after passing under the bridge for the world’s cameras to make the most of the photo opportunity. And that’s when Valentin would shoot, just as the barge started its turn, with the dignitaries waving to the world. He looked back upriver to Millennium Pier, where the signatories would disembark and swear undying mutual friendship and shake hands as another photo opportunity for the world press, before being taken on by car to the Palace for tea and bikkies. Unless Valentin and his crew had their way, in which case they’d be transported by meat wagon.

  It had to be as the barge turned, or the bridge itself would block the shot. He looked west away from the bridge, towards Bermondsey and Southwark, and estimated the distance. That had to be it, the shooters would be in that direction, but anywhere in an arc up to two miles, and th
at still meant dozens of possible positions. Okay then, time for Sir Richard to do his thing and get the cops to do a search.

  Sir Richard said no. Well, not the actual word, but being a civil servant, avoiding direct answers to a question is part of the regulation doublespeak. What he said was, “That’s excellent work, Harry, and of course, I shall ensure that everything possible is done by the requisite services whose remit covers this particular aspect of the tripartite accord, within the parameters already ratified by multi-function enforcement agencies through their designated liaisons. However, within these boundaries, it would be unrealistic to expect parties not directly under the control or guidance and responsibility of this department to respond to a non-governmental operative’s recommendations on a subject of such national and, indeed, international import.”

  “So that’s a no, then?” Harry said, having learned long ago what BS smelled like, and this smelled like a herd had just passed by.

  “That,” Sir Richard said, bringing his fingers together in his hallmark pyramid, “is as it is.”

  “Then that’s a no, then?” Harry said.

  Sir Richard watched him for several seconds before speaking. “What I am trying to say,” he said slowly for the idiot, “is that should I press the button on this and flood the skies with Black Hawks and Apaches searching for a gunman, or gunmen, as yet unknown, and it turns out to be, shall we say, unproductive.” He raised his eyebrows as if he expected Harry to join right on in. “Well, we would all look rather silly, wouldn’t we?”

  “Not as silly as we’re going to look when they’re lifting the three top Western leaders off the barge in body bags,” Harry said, in a remarkably calm voice.

  “Be that as it may,” Sir Richard said, which basically meant, argument heard and dismissed. “Can I ask you to do something for me?” he continued, getting up and walking round the huge desk and then taking Harry’s arm and leading him to the door. “Would you employ those undoubted skills for which you are well regarded, and see if you can get a more… shall we say… accurate location and… if possible… a count of these foreign assassins?” He opened the door and practically threw Harry out.