by steve higgs
I stepped carefully to the door. There was a keyhole, an old mortice lock but I hadn't heard them lock it as they left. I pressed my ear close to the small gap between the frame and the door, listening for any sign of a person outside. I stilled my breathing, making myself as quiet as possible. After a few seconds, I decided there was no sound to hear.
Okay. Now what?
I still didn't know what was outside the door, but I was going to have to go through it anyway. I was inside their base of operations, below ground and cut off from everyone. My only chance of escape, before they came back to kill me, was through that door. If I was lucky, I would find myself near to where I wanted to go, even though I would not know which direction was which until I found a point of orientation. Also in my list of most desired outcomes, was for there to be no one wandering the tunnels as I snuck about in them. To get to the next part of the plan I had to escape and possibly fight my way out. Just me against as many of them as I came up against.
A weapon would be good.
I looked around the room, a quick search that turned up a picture frame – no use, a plastic bucket – might be a distraction if I threw it at someone, a small table – too unwieldy to carry around. Largely drawing a blank on the weapon front, there was a rag in the corner which I had ignored, but having looked everywhere else I figured I might as well look under it (just in case someone had hidden a bazooka). No such luck, but the oily rag did have a pipe wrench beneath it.
I permitted myself a lopsided grin as I hefted it. It wasn't much, it was all I was going to get though, so rather than acknowledge that I was stalling, I turned the door handle and slipped silently out of the room.
Beyond was a tunnel. I could go left or right, but since I didn't know where I was, either direction held the same probability of success. I had a rough map of the underground tunnels and rooms in my head. I knew where I needed to get to in order to escape, I just needed to work out where I was.
I picked left but only got three paces before I heard voices coming from that direction. I froze, it was instantly clear they were coming toward me from around the corner ahead. Behind me, the tunnel stretched on for a hundred feet before the next corner. The safest option was to slip back into the room I had been in. But what if that was where they were going?
I ran. Strong, hard strides that quickly became a sprint. Finding out where I was in relation to where I wanted to be was suddenly a secondary concern. Avoiding capture was more important.
I had planned for the worst as I always did but bringing weapons with me would have tipped them off and would have been confiscated anyway. The one thing I did have was my phone because I forgot to remove it. They had taken that soon enough. It was just me and my wits now.
Was I making too much noise? Convinced the voices coming toward me must have been able to hear my shoes slapping against the stone floor, I denied myself the desire to look over my shoulder. Could I hear them running? Had they heard me already and given chase?
The corner was coming up. If I could get there I would be out of sight and just maybe I would recognise something and be able to orientate myself. I wasn't having that kind of luck though. With a pace left before I swung around the corner, I heard their shouts.
In the next breath, I made the turn and glanced back down the dingy corridor I had just fled. Three of them were after me, two of whom were guards I had seen previously. Their shouts were going to attract a lot of attention really quickly.
Rounding the next corner with adrenalin sending my heart rate through the roof, I was rewarded with a sight that changed the game.
I knew where I was.
The underground system had three entry points. One I was yet to find, one was in a secret stairwell that connected to a door in the back of the Admiral's office (the one I had been led down) and one that sat right at the edge of the river, hidden from view but accessible by water. All three ran into a set of linked chambers. One could hide an army in here and no one above ground would know. On the map, two of the tunnels that led to the chambers were curved, the other was straight and had intersecting paths. The straight one was the one that led from, or in my case, to the water and it was right in front of me.
I could see at least two hundred yards. Light was provided by overhead lamps, but like elsewhere they were too dim and too few to hold back the dark as the tunnel stretched into the distance. I stopped running and did the only thing I could in the circumstances.
There were three men chasing me. I was injured and tired and badly outnumbered. So, I attacked them.
I figured they would be sprinting after me, running full tilt with their pulses drumming in their ears like mine was and they wouldn’t think twice about throwing themselves around the corner after me.
I had two or three seconds before they would reach me, so I relaxed, took a couple of deep breaths and as they hit the corner, I hit them.
As planned, it caught them all by surprise. The tool in my right hand scythed upwards to connect under the chin of the second man, not the first, as I sidestepped and tripped him. I could hear him stumble and sprawl on the floor behind me. It bought me a few seconds.
With one man down but unharmed and one man falling backward from the blow to his jaw, I was able to continue my forward motion into the third man. The half second of warning had been enough for his brain to get a message to his muscles so he was abating his own forward momentum to avoid running directly into me.
It was all too late though. As they had rounded the corner, I had already thrown myself at them. Even if the slowest of them had been able to come to a complete halt in the space of a few feet, I would still have closed the distance before he could get his arms up to defend himself. As it was, all the third man had time to do was look surprised before I hammered my left hand into his throat with a stiff arm.
He was still moving forward, the sudden blow to his neck caused his head to stop moving while his body pivoted about my arm.
He wouldn't be badly hurt but he was out of the fight for now. Behind me, the man on the floor was scrambling to his feet. It was the one that had held me for the beating on Tuesday night.
Time to even the score.
He was up and setting himself into a fighting stance, but found time to reach behind his back to produce a knife. Thankful that it wasn't a gun, I too positioned myself. Arms loose, feet spread for even balance and knees flexed and ready to move.
He grinned at me. Whether it was forced false confidence designed to make me feel uneasy or he genuinely believed he was the superior fighter was something I would find out very soon.
Then I heard the footfall of a small crowd coming down the tunnel we had all just run along. The three that had spotted me had either raised the alarm or had made enough noise to be heard and now all their friends were coming for me.
Bugger.
He grinned at me once more as shouts started to echo along the tunnel. They had spotted me.
‘Feeling lucky?’ He asked.
Time was not my ally and he was blocking my escape route. I either went through him or I was going to die. I had about five seconds.
He didn’t bother to come at me. Why would he? All he had to do was keep me in place long enough for his friends to arrive.
So, I went to him. I swung the wrench like I was going to throw it at his head, he flinched, and I threw it at his feet instead. It struck home on his left foot, causing him to howl in pain and denying him the focus he would need if he wanted to stick me with the knife.
I punched his face as I ran by, landing a hard blow to his left temple that shocked my hand and might have broken a couple of knuckles. He was behind me now though and I was running for all I was worth.
I had one chance of escape: I had to get to the river entrance.
In my head, I counted as I ran. The horde was behind me and there was going to be guys in it that were faster runners than me. I had a small head start but no way to know if I could outrun them.
I got to th
ree Mississippi before the sound changed and I could tell they had just rounded the corner behind me. I was once again visible to them which would spur them on to close the distance. It took rigid discipline to not look back and focus only on getting to my destination.
There was nothing in the brick-built tunnels I could use to slow them down, no convenient trolley of cleaning products one always found in a movie chase to throw in a pursuer’s way. I just had to keep going.
I was sure they were gaining, and my breath was coming in ragged lumps now. I had already run more than two hundred yards as fast as I could when the floor of the tunnel started to slope downward. I pushed myself on, buoyed with hope as I was certain the river entrance was not far ahead of me now.
In the dim light of the tunnel ahead, I thought for a moment that the lights had been turned off. However, worry that I might have to run virtually blind was replaced by elation as I realised it wasn't a lack of light ahead of me, but the door that would lead out to the river.
Beyond it was going to be a dock. A dock that was underground and could only be accessed from the river. Behind the door was salvation.
I risked a glance over my shoulder.
My pursuers were falling behind. They were slowing down.
And they were laughing.
I reached the door and stopped.
‘It was a good try, Mr. Michaels.' A familiar voice echoed in the confined space. ‘Unfortunately, that door only opens from the other side.'
I glanced at the door. He was right. There was no handle this side.
My Office. Monday, November 21st 0847hrs
Four days before the race through the tunnels and oblivious to the trouble I was about to get in, I was making coffee in the high-end machine I had decided to buy for the office. Amanda and I had both closed cases and billed clients with a confident regularity and both she and I and James/Jane had a real love for coffee. So, I splurged on a machine that would take fresh beans and make glorious, glorious, strong, dark brew.
My father was in the hospital in a coma that was the result of a blow to his skull. It had rattled his brain, but the doctors assured me he was not in danger. His brain activity was normal, their expectation that he would come around naturally in a few days. Until then he would be cared for and monitored for any changes.
There was nothing I could do other than visit and try to comfort my mother. Visiting hours were not until after lunch but thoughts of checking on his condition were entirely secondary to my plan to find whoever had injured him.
Almost two weeks ago, he had been telling me that there was something odd happening at the Royal Dockyard, a local tourist attraction that used to be the Royal Navy's largest shipbuilding port. It was hundreds of years old but had closed in the eighties as either technology had moved on or spending on defence had cut back. I didn't know which it was, and it might have been a simple case that there were no more large warships to build. That, in itself, was something to celebrate.
Dad had retired after a long career in the Navy but had found himself in need of something to keep him occupied occasionally and I think he also missed the camaraderie and banter, so when a part-time job as a tour guide on the retired vessels in the yard came up, he took it.
Now he was in the hospital and I was going to find out why.
The aroma of coffee brewing under my nose was making me salivate. In the final stage of its process, the machine made me wait while I watched dark liquid pour down the twin shoots and into the tiny espresso cup sitting beneath them.
I took the cup out, reset it to make another and took the steaming brew across the room to my assistant Jane. I had hired Jane a couple of months ago when the number of enquiries was getting too much for me and when I took on another detective to assist me with the mounting workload. I had worried what the overhead would do to my profit and loss figures as the assistant would not be billing any hours and was, therefore, pure cost.
It turned out that it didn't matter because she was so darned efficient that I was solving twice the number of cases. She was fantastic with all the IT equipment, somehow automatically knowing how everything worked best and she was a demon at research. One might want to call her a geek, but the term didn't fit the profile as she was also a petite blonde with trim legs and a toned bottom and a pretty face.
I didn't think of her in those terms, of course. Not because I am her boss and wouldn't entertain stray lecherous thoughts about an employee in my head. No. I didn't have those thoughts about Jane because she also has a penis.
Jane was actually a man when I employed him but was one of the new-wave of gender-neutral persons that now seemed to be everywhere. It had no impact on me, so I made no comment either way. I will admit that I was curious about what underwear was worn when the Jane personality was dominant. No matter what might be happening on the outside there was still meat and two veg to put somewhere underneath and I doubted I would be comfortable balancing mine in a tiny thong.
Jane thanked me as I handed her the miniature porcelain cup and saucer, but barely looked up from the array of screens in front of her. Like me, she liked to get in early and she was genuinely excited to do her job it seemed.
I scurried back to the coffee maker as it was now spitting out my cup-full of excellence.
I heard the back door of the office open as my colleague Amanda walked in. I refer to her as my colleague for two reasons. The first is that I have found myself mostly uncomfortable with the concept of employees. I want to work with people, not have them work for me. It made me feel too much like an overlord. That probably said something negative about my personality but so be it. The second reason was one I had been trying to avoid or deny ever since I met her: I was pretty much in love with her.
She was dating a multi-millionaire and I was certain she had no interest in me or I would have found a way to express my feelings by now. For my part, I was dating someone too, but I had already half admitted to myself that the relationship had no future and had made no move to advance our relationship beyond a few dinners and kissing. For the last few days, I had been resisting seeing her at all, convinced she was going to drag me through her front door and take off her clothes.
Natasha, the lady I have been dating, is a very attractive woman. A stunner most would say, but it was my inability to see beyond Amanda that drove me to believe it was love I was experiencing. So my wasted heart kept beating on despite the belief that she would never be mine.
‘Hi, Guys.’ She waved as she swung into her office to drop her bag and coat. ‘Wow! Smell that coffee. Is one of those for me?’
The machine finished the second cup as she crossed the room toward me, smiling and gorgeous and everything I wanted. I handed it to her reluctantly. My adoration had limits.
‘Thank you, Tempest.’ She had her eyes closed and the cup raised to just under her nose to breathe in the scent.
I had all but forgotten the coffee because I had just got a whiff of her perfume. It is my understanding that a given perfume smells different on everyone that wears it. The scent interacts with the person’s own biology to subtly change the way it smells. Whatever was in Amanda’s skin made perfume on her smell like heaven. It was a magnet to my libido. Or maybe I was just horny and she was the most beautiful and perfect woman on the planet.
She had her eyes closed still, so didn’t notice my guilty glance at her body. Seeing her naked a while back didn’t help my ability to resist picturing her reclining on my bed.
As I placed yet another cup under the twin spouts, Amanda opened her eyes and moved away to see what Jane was up to.
The machine beeped to let me know it was out of hot water. Irritated, I stomped through the office to get more from the tap.
Fifteen minutes later, I was buzzing from the two cups I had drunk and wondering if I should impose a personal limit of one. Amanda had spoken with Jane as she was doing some research for her and let me know she was going out. Her client was a lady that believed she had a cult of devil w
orshippers living next door. It was one of those odd cases where we could investigate but had limited options on what to do about it if we could show the lady that she was right.
I was sitting at my desk scrolling through information on the Dockyard and making notes as I taught myself more about the place. There was no client for this case unless you wanted to say it was my parents, but the point was that I couldn't bill anyone for my time. Regardless of that fact, I was going into full investigation mode to find out who had hurt my father. The police had been informed and had conducted a cursory inspection of the scene. It wasn't a serious enough crime though and would not attract hard effort to track down the miscreant responsible. I was going to have to do this myself.
Besides, one of dad's colleagues at the Dockyard, Alan Page, had backed dad's story that there was something going on. Whispers in the rigging room he had said. He regaled me with tales of ghosts in naval costume being reported by the night crew of cleaners and security. I didn't know how much was hyperbole or embellishment and how much was true but had vowed to find out for myself.
I wanted a map of the yard to pin on my wall and I wanted the names of persons in key positions at the yard. My initial plan was to gain the attention of the chap that ran the place. If he would endorse my investigation, I might be able to move more freely or get a pass that would allow me access to places tourists couldn’t go.
The CEO of the dockyard was easy enough to find. It was a man in his late thirties if the photograph on the website was current. His name was Alex Jordan. He had an MBA from a London business school and was a Royal Navy Reserves Officer. The Dockyard business website was separate from the tourist website. It, no doubt, existed for affiliate firms that did business with the Dockyard, but there I was able to find Alex and other personalities such as Julia Jones. Julia was head of facilities management so, in all likelihood, she ran the night crew of cleaners that came in after the tourists left for the day. The head of security was a man named Danylo Vakhno. He looked like a strongman competitor with his head like a bowling ball and crew-cut hair. The photograph of him only showed his head and shoulders, but even from that limited shot, I could tell he had some serious muscle.
