'Colonel Smith is missing, rumour has it he was arrested.' Vincent said. Russell looked shocked. 'What does all this mean?' Vincent asked.
'It means that John is taken.'
Keen lurched two paces forward, 'Taken? Who has him?'
'We haven't time here. The order demands the destruction of all evidence of his existence.'
'That's why this place will now burn?' Keen asked.
Russell nodded, and crossed the room back towards Vincent and Keen 'And certainly the home that you shared with him, maybe even the Abbey if they know he is known there, anywhere that harbours people who might be sympathetic to him.'
Keen's eyes widened in alarm, 'Jakob.' She pushed past Vincent and got as far as the office door.
'Keen, wait.' Russell called. 'The command also includes a kill order for his known associates. You and I will top that list.'
Keen stopped in her tracks and turned to face her old enemy just as Russell pulled her gun and aimed it at Keen. Vincent, in response, lifted the barrel of his pistol to within an inch of Russell's face. Russell barely spared him a glance. 'Your lot is fixed with us now son so turn your mind to our escape.' She directed her next words to Keen. 'I need your help.'
Keen eyed Russell as if she were insane, 'If it were you on fire here Madam, I wouldn't piss to put you out.'
'You would if I knew where they had taken John.' Russell replied. She held a long, steady look with Keen and then she holstered her gun and strode swiftly back to the hatch door where she ducked from the room, into a darkened passage beyond.
'Wait.' Keen called after her, but Russell had gone.
Keen and Vincent stood rooted to the spot for a moment, staring at the dark hatch.
'We should follow her.' Vincent finally said.
'We should damn her to hell.' Keen replied, and Vincent saw she was pained, pulled in two directions now both John and her brother were in jeopardy.
'Why did you follow me to the beach?' He said. Keen looked at Vincent as if really noticing him for the first time. 'I believe you saw through my story,' he continued, 'so why follow?'
Keen sighed. 'Maybe I saw something good in the heart of Michael Farmer.' She said quietly.
'It's Daniel.' He said.
Keen straightened her shoulders. 'You didn't think to prowl the Abbey unseen did you Daniel? I couldn't guess you were working for Russell but I wanted off the Island fast, and you looked to be the certain means. So I followed.'
'Is John Mann really the father of your child?'
'Perhaps I'll confide that answer to your pregnant wife.' She replied and Vincent took the rebuff with a wry smile. 'I'm sorry.' She continued. He looked puzzled. 'I'm sorry that Russell involved you and now you are bound to her and fugitive too.'
'Then I shall look to my future.' he said quietly.
'The woman trails madness.'
'Listen, we might know the Doctor for a cracked pot but she may well hold our salvation tonight.' He smiled grimly at Keen and headed out through the hatch door in Russell's wake.
Chapter Forty-Two
The sudden harsh trill of the phone in the confined space of the limousine made Hunt start. He dug into his pocket to retrieve it as he shot a hard look at Corporal Cole, riding shotgun in the front, who had turned in sudden alarm at the unfamiliar sound from behind him.
Hunt accepted the call; a woman's breathless voice.
'I'm returning your message carried in that broadcast.'
Hunt came alert. 'Doctor Russell I assume.'
'You have John?'
'And you have his mate. You'll bring her in?'
'John is unharmed?'
'Safe and secure Doctor.'
'She changes everything you know.'
'I would imagine you think she does. Your research now seems...'
'Vital still.' Russell interrupted. 'And you'll be grateful for it if you don't want to waste precious time and resources repeating it.'
He bristled at her arrogance. 'Expect a call with co-ordinates for where you should take her.'
A brief silence followed broken by a gasping sound, then the line went dead. He stared at the phone in his hand. Had she just laughed and hung up on him? A flush of anger rose to his throat and he swallowed hard. No matter. He had Mann, the prize. And Russell and the woman she had in tow were now nothing more than loose ends both.
****
Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, please take a moment to leave me a review, I'd really appreciate it.
Thank you.
Charles Barrow
Excerpt from John Mann: At Day's End
If you’ve enjoyed reading The Darkening Days of John Mann email [email protected] to receive updates on the final instalment of All the Days of John Mann - John Mann: At Day's End.
Read an excerpt from it below.
John Mann: At Day's End
Hal Scarrot ran pell-mell, ran for his life. He'd burst the lungs of two of his pursuers and they had petered out minutes ago but the man still on his tail was determined and all the more worrisome for it. Hal figured his odds of escape were still good though. He knew these streets, their forks and twittens, this was his borough. He ventured a glance over his shoulder at the hound still in pursuit of him. It was the swarthy man, the one who had grabbed a fist full of Hal's hair when first the three jumped him. Perhaps the man still held the clump of hair in his fist, Hal could feel the sharp pain above his ear where it had torn from his scalp when he'd planted a knee squarely into the soft target of the man's balls, prompting his escape. Hal smiled, his assailant would surely be feeling a sharp pain or two of his own.
The streets were dark between the closely packed buildings, thick with shadow and night, though a dull half moon hung low in the sky scattering a shimmering carpet of silver coins over the rain wet pavements where its beams penetrated to the ground.
Next left, he'd jag sharp left up ahead and lose the ponce in Monger's Lane. Hal's own lungs were beginning to burn and above the thump of blood in his ears he could hear the slap of the man's pursuing feet on the wet road behind. The ringing sound of them would be drawing attention too, drawing unseen and curious faces to the darkened windows around and overhead. The curfew bell had long since rung and patrols would be out; not yet in these backstreets but on the thoroughfares for a certainty and Hal had need to cross several of those in order to complete his business.
At full tilt the sharp left into the narrow alleyway was not an easy turn. Hal used both hands, palm out, to take the impact of hitting the brick wall at a glancing angle and pushed himself off and away into a spinning turn that propelled him forwards and onwards down the littered alley. He heard the man behind him, surprised by the sudden change in direction, collide painfully with the corner bricks, heard the air go out of him, and heard the livid curses he muttered a moment later as he joined the chase again.
Hal could have reached out both hands and touched the slimy dark walls to left and right of him. As it was, he needed them for balance as he continued his flight, hurdling a heap of shattered furniture, a pile of rags, a jumble of rubbish, and then ducked neatly under a rusted drainpipe that had slipped its moorings on the wall and now hung crosswise at head height, at the exit of the alleyway, ready to brain the unwary in the dark.
Bursting out of the alley and into Monger's Lane, Hal flew over the cobbled street and aimed himself towards the tall, spiked railings around the old school building opposite. He could still hear the ponce banging his way through the alley behind him but he had gained enough seconds for his escape, he always did. He stopped before the railings, stepped one leg through between the iron rails, threaded one arm through after it, took a moment to calm his ragged breathing and sucked in his chest and squeezed his body through the narrow gap, taking care that his coat shouldn't snag even for a moment on the shards of rusted, flaking metal. He cast a glance behind him at his pursuer, rushing the last distance over the cobbles to make a grab at him. Hal turned his head away and eased it gen
tly forward between the bars before stepping his other leg through into the safety of the grass yard inside the railings, just as the man's hands snatched at the empty air where Hal had been a moment before.
The man snarled in anger and looked about to see if the railings could be scaled. They could not, and neither was there an entry gate on this side of the building. He attempted to push his body between the railings but gave up on that attempt in a moment when it became obvious he was too large to pass through. Hal laughed, his breathing coming hard and he felt the first sharp needle of stitch in his side, but he laughed anyway. Enraged, the man grabbed at two of the railings and shook them while he growled.
'Thank you,' Hal gasped, 'I'd always a wish to see an ape at the zoo.'
'Fuck you boy.' The man spat.
Hal patted his arse. 'Not me ponce. Find a sucker lad happy to tumble with you.' Hal turned to leave, he still had a mile of treacherous street to travel and the raw skin by his ear stung like a poker scald; perhaps Ma May would have a fix for it.
'Spark will have you skinned alive Scarrot.'
Hal stopped dead in his tracks and his blood ran cold at the man's words. He had thought this a bungled hit for spoils or sport but now the man named him as intended target, and by Spark of all people. He turned back slowly to face the man, pacing now on the opposite side of the railings. 'Jak Spark?' Hal tried and failed to keep the tremble from his voice.
The man's face split into a wide, humourless grin, 'And when the skin has been peeled from your back I shall claim your carcass to settle up for your insult here.' The man slapped the railings with some force, setting up a vibration that ran away along their length in both directions.
Hal sought to put some sense into this sudden dip in his fortunes but could conjure none. Instead he stiffened his spine and shot the man what he hoped would seem a look of defiance. 'If my knee had jarred against a man's sac earlier I might quake now at your promise, but as it stands...' Hal proffered his empty hands, palms up. He cocked a finger in salute and turned to saunter away into the shadows of the old school building, whistling a nonchalant tune as he went. A tune that neither stopped the man's shouted threats from reaching his ears, nor in any way calmed his own troubled thoughts.
****
About Charles Barrow
Charles Barrow lives in the South of England. He studied English Literature and Film at University. He currently works as a tour guide, recounting tales to visitors. He enjoys writing stories for readers too. He admires John Wyndham, John Christopher and Henning Mankell for their spare prose. He grew up in the shadow of the nuclear arms race, and his formative influence was the 1975 BBC television series ‘Survivors’, set in a post-apocalyptic Britain. It's fair to say that the resulting paranoia feeds into his current fiction. But despite fearing that the Earth of the future will be far less ‘peopled’ than it currently is he remains an optimistic soul.
Connect with Charles Barrow
Email: [email protected]
Find my blog at barrowstories.blogspot.co.uk
Follow me at twitter.com/cbarrowbooks
Also available by this author, The Stolen Days of John Mann.
The Darkening Days of John Mann Page 11