The Recarn Chronicles- Omnibus Edition

by Greg Krojac

  And with that parting piece of trivia, Manfred deftly retrieved the electronic signal inhibitor from behind Maurice’s tie and left the café.

  Karen wouldn’t like him to leave the house at that time in the morning, but he had no choice. His daughter’s life was at stake.

  ***

  Later that night, Karen was sleeping in their bed, a good night’s sleep guaranteed by the bed’s ‘DurmaBem’ system which sent out a relaxing hum, the frequency of which was designed to keep the sleeper in a deep sleep until a predetermined hour, when it would change its function into that of an alarm, gently waking the sleeper who was sufficiently refreshed and ready to start a new day having had a great night’s sleep. When first introduced the technology had suffered a few initial teething troubles, specifically a malfunction of the alarm system which resulted in some sleepers being left comatose for days on end, but those problems had been ironed out now and the beds were once again considered safe.

  Maurice decided he had no choice but to risk it, although he didn’t like doing so. He crept around to his wife’s side of the bed and found the touch-screen display that was used to change the settings of the bed for her side of the bed. It was recommended to set the frequency to medium so that unexpected noises would still wake the sleeper, but Maurice changed the setting for an even deeper sleep, ensuring that Karen didn’t wake up too early and find him gone. He was certain that he would be back home before she was woken by the bed’s alarm and thus she would be none the wiser, although explaining to her how it was that he now had one million pounds in his holdall might prove a little tricky. However, by then it would be too late for her to complain, a fait accompli, and Caitlin would be saved. Even Karen would have to see that he’d had no other option.

  ***

  At 1 a.m. on Saturday 28th, Maurice silently left his house, ensuring that the house security was activated, and leaving Karen was sleeping peacefully. He’d had no need to adjust the setting of his daughter Michelle’s bed; that girl could probably sleep through a hurricane. He walked the kilometre to the tube station, trotted down the concrete steps and bought a ticket from one of the automatic ticket vending machines. The station was reasonably busy, it being essentially the hangover of a Friday night, and several couples were dotted around the platform. In the corner, a group of raucous men were on a stag night, busily chatting up a group of drunken girls on a hen night. The nervous Maurice only had to wait two minutes before his train arrived and after an uneventful thirty-minute journey, he was at the rendezvous point. He checked his watch. It was 1:55 am.

  At exactly 2 am two large black SUVs with tinted windows pulled up alongside him. The passenger door window of the first SUV silently opened and a voice told Maurice to get in. He did as he was told.

  “Good evening Maurice.”

  “Good morning Manfred.”

  “Ah. Of course. These early morning ops make me lose all track of time.”

  “So, what do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing really. You just have to scoop up your share of the money. My two colleagues and I will neutralise the security systems, both human and electronic. Then I’ll open the vault…”

  “Do you know how to open the vault?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. There hasn’t been a vault built that I can’t open within sixty seconds.”

  Maurice was still anxious.

  “Will anybody be killed? I don’t like the idea of people getting killed.”

  “Who do you think we are? This isn’t our first rodeo. We’re professionals. People only die if we want them to die, and we don’t want anybody to die tonight. Our pulse-guns will be set to stun. The security guards will be knocked out for a couple of hours but that’s all. Nobody will die unless the setting is switched to kill. If that happens the heart of the unfortunate victim stops in an instant and it’s off to reincarnation city.”

  “I don’t need a gun do I?”

  “Depends if you want to risk being killed. If you are killed, we’d be entitled to take your share of the money. I’m not saying we would – we know why you’re doing this, and we understand your dilemma – but we would be entitled to.”

  Maurice had fired an obsolete SLR assault weapon once at a history exhibition but he didn’t like the idea of firing a real weapon at a real person instead of a static target. However, he could see the benefit of carrying one that night; he needed to be alive to get the money to the Norwegian doctor. If he died, so would his daughter. And even if he did have to shoot someone, they’d only be unconscious for a couple of hours – at least they wouldn’t die. He wouldn’t be a murderer. Manfred continued with his briefing.

  “The guns are fitted with an automated external cleaning system so that if you drop yours and leave it behind at the crime scene, there’ll be no fingerprints or DNA samples that the police can take off it. But you’re not going to drop it, are you Maurice? These little beauties are pretty expensive.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “Now, press the red button once for ‘off’, twice for ‘stun’, and three times for… well, you get the picture. They’re all set at ‘off’ for now. When we get there we’ll set them to ‘stun’. Understood?”

  Maurice nodded.

  ***

  Thirty minutes later the SUVs pulled up in a layby close to Cristian Parks’s large country house. The group of four thieves quickly dressed themselves in black jumpsuits, covered their faces with black masks, and donned night vision goggles. Maurice felt quite excited. He’d never done anything like this before and found it kind of exhilarating. Manfred went over the plan, a repetition for the other two members of the team, but it was the first time that Maurice had heard it.

  “Right. So you all know what you have to do? “

  Manfred’s colleagues nodded. Maurice was confused.

  “What do I do?”

  “You, Maurice, are a passenger. You do nothing except pack your holdall with one million quid in cash, come back to the cars, jump in one of them – doesn’t matter which - and then we all drive off. We’ll drop you off near your house and you’ll never see or hear from us again. You pay for your daughter’s treatment, my colleagues and I are each a million pounds richer, everybody’s happy.”

  The group edged their way silently to the main gate of the house, each man with a holdall slung over his back. Manfred took something from the side pocket of his holdall.

  “What’s that?” Maurice whispered.

  “Our key. Stop asking questions and keep quiet.”

  Manfred had in his hand a pad of small transparent sheets. Each sheet contained a DNA sample from Christian Parks. The Businessman didn’t have DNA samples from everybody in London but he did have samples from anybody of interest to him - rich people. His supply network spread far and wide and he had at his disposal a veritable cornucopia of useful DNA and fingerprint samples. Manfred pressed the first sheet onto the receptor of the gate’s entry system and the gate swung open. Once the group was through, he closed the gates in the same way.

  “Now we’ll see how awake his security men are.”

  No guards came to investigate the initial intrusion of the four masked men. So far, so good, although Maurice thought it odd that they hadn’t been detected yet; surely a house like this would have cameras all over the place? Five seconds later he discovered why there was no flurry of activity. Two large Dobermann dogs came running around the corner of the building. Maurice was wary of even small dogs and these two hounds of the Baskervilles made him very nervous. They certainly weren’t there to chase sticks or play ball.

  “Shit!”

  Manfred hushed the accountant.

  “Quiet Maurice. I’ve got this.”

  Manfred reached into his pocket and the dogs stopped sharply in their tracks, before settling down to sleep. Manfred had secretly triggered a high-frequency note that was inaudible to humans but could be heard by the dogs and had knocked the animals out cold. The group moved silently forward and hid
behind two large ornamental garden pots.

  “Right,” said Manfred. They’ll have seen that the dogs are no longer a threat to us, so expect to see armed guards arrive any second. We’ll wait here and take them out. There’s a total of ten of them, but I doubt that they’ll send them all to investigate at once.”

  “How do you know there’s ten guards?” asked Maurice.

  “The Businessman. That’s all you need to know.”

  Sure enough, three guards made their way out into the open, scanning the garden gingerly with their guns. Maurice had no idea what he was supposed to do; should he shoot them? He heard nothing but saw three pulses of orange light leave the pulse guns of his accomplices and pound the security guards squarely on the chest. The guards dropped like stones, knocked unconscious.

  Manfred gestured to the other three that they should move forward and all four darted towards the door of the main house.

  Soon they were by a large plate glass door. Manfred tossed two aerosol cans to his colleagues and they began to spray the edges of the glass with a white foam. Maurice was amazed to see the glass begin to melt before his very eyes.

  Manfred whispered to his wide-eyed passenger.

  “A few more seconds and we’ll be able to just walk into the house. And before you ask, yes, a silent alarm will have been tripped alerting the local police. But they won’t be responding. Not yet, anyway.”

  Once the glass had been removed, the four of them stepped through the space where it used to be. Manfred pointed to another door at the far end of the corridor.

  “That’s where the vault is. Looks like any other internal door of the house, but it isn’t a normal door. Opens only when the DNA of Christian Parks is applied simultaneously to two sensor pads. Anyone else tries to open it and they’ll get fried by a high-voltage charge. Fortunately, I’ve got loads of the guy’s DNA with me. Craig and Wayne will keep an eye on the corridor and the garden. The guards will have realised we’re inside the house by now, so, Maurice, when the vault door is open, I’ll call you in and you can pack that Tottenham Hotspur sports bag with enough money to save your little girl.”

  Manfred casually walked up to the door whilst Craig and Wayne took up their positions, watching for any sign of the house security team. Manfred opened up his pad of DNA samples. There were two dull thuds behind them as a couple of security men fell to the floor, unconscious. Wayne raised his hand, gesturing that five of the security staff had now been dealt with, before quickly readjusting that figure to eight as Craig dispatched three more security guards.

  “They don’t seem to be trying very hard to stop us,” whispered Maurice, as the vault door swung open.

  “That’s ‘cos they’re not,” grinned Manfred. “They’re giving just enough resistance so the insurance company won’t get suspicious and reject the claim that Parks will no doubt file. It’s more or less a victimless crime. The other two won’t bother us now.”

  He beckoned Wayne, Craig and Maurice to enter the vault.

  “Right. Four piles. A million quid in each of them. Fill your bags and then let’s get out of here.”

  Maurice threw his holdall on the floor next to the right-hand pile of money, almost ripping the zipper as he scooped the bundles of notes into the bag. The others did the same but with less panic; they were old hands at this type of thing. Manfred zipped up his own bag.

  “Everybody ready? Let’s go.”

  The group, each one with a bag containing at least one million pounds slung over his back, ran through the space where the window had been and sprinted towards the gate. Maurice wasn’t as fit as the other three and lagged a little behind.

  “Oi! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  The more experienced and better-trained men continued running, but Maurice had been startled. He turned round to see the shock of platinum hair that crowned the head of the figure that had called out. It was such a stupid haircut that it couldn’t be anyone else other than Christian Parks standing on the lawn, staring right at him.

  “I said, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? And where the fuck are my security guards? And my fucking dogs?”

  Panic surged through Maurice’s veins. He wasn’t cut out to be a criminal. He raised his pulse-gun. It would be alright. Christian Parks would be unconscious for a couple of hours. No harm done. He pulled the trigger and the footballer collapsed like a half-empty sack of potatoes.

  Wayne and Craig had been watching the scene unfold as Manfred used his DNA samples to open the gates again. Wayne stood with his mouth open, unable to speak. Craig eventually broke the silence.

  “Boss. We’ve got a problem.”

  “What?”

  “I think he’s, I think he’s…”

  Wayne cut in.

  “That twat has only gone and killed the gooner.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “The light was red. The pulse was red. It was red wasn’t it Craig? I didn’t imagine it, did I, mate?”

  “Nah. it was red alright.”

  Manfred’s face turned almost as red as the pulse beam that had shone from Maurice’s weapon.

  “I told the Businessman not to let the accountant have a gun. I told him. He’s a pen-pusher I said.”

  He walked up to Maurice and looked him straight in the eye, wrenching the pulse gun from his grasp.

  “If it weren’t for the fact that I have a young daughter myself, I’d kill you right here and now, you fucking wanker. But your little girl doesn’t deserve to die just ‘cos you can’t follow simple instructions. If it weren’t for her I’d fucking kill you and take your share of the money. I mean, why the hell do you think it was so easy? Everyone was in on it. The only one who didn’t know was the footballer. And he wasn’t even supposed to be there. The guards knew nobody would get hurt.”

  Manfred was hardly able to contain his anger and frustration.

  “Well, that went tits up quickly, didn’t it! A nice easy job, a stroll in the park, and then the fucking footballer has to come home early! And on top of that, you get trigger happy. I fucking told the Businessman not to let you have a gun, but he insisted.”

  He poked the accountant in the chest.

  “You’re a fucking idiot, Maurice! Come on boys, let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  Craig, Wayne, and Maurice started to run towards the waiting cars. Manfred grabbed Maurice by the arm and poked him in the chest with his pulse-gun.

  “Not you, Jesse James. You’re on your own. My advice to you is to get the money to the doc and fuck off far away from here. Go wherever the fuck you want – but you’re not coming with us. Save the girl and – if you’re lucky – save yourself. We all get reincarnated but murder is still murder, and the cops will still investigate. Especially when the victim is rich.”

  With that, the three thieves sprinted back to the cars. The hapless Maurice could only stand and watch as the rear lights of their vehicles faded into the distance.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  03:00 SATURDAY 28 JANUARY 2051

  Maurice was lost. Not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. He’d never even hurt anyone before, not really, not deliberately. But now he’d killed someone. He was sure he’d set the pulse-gun to stun, but there was a dead footballer laying on the lawn that testified to the contrary. He tried to gather his thoughts, but one thing was certain - he couldn’t stay where he was. The police would be on their way soon, expecting to find a crime-scene for sure, but a robbery, not a murder. They were certainly not expecting to find a dead footballer.

  A dog barked in the distance and forced Maurice to remember that now wasn’t the time for procrastination. He was on foot and had to get as far away from the crime scene as possible and as quickly as possible. He ripped off his goggles and balaclava and stuffed them into his holdall, on top of the million pounds in crisp new notes. Which way to run? At first, he didn’t think it made much difference until he noticed that there was a wooded area nearby. That would give him s
ome cover. That would be the best idea. Get off the road and into some kind of cover. He started running, the holdall knocking against his hip as he ran. Without breaking step he slung the strap of the bag over his shoulder and adjusted the buckle to make it shorter and the bag less awkward.

  The wood was surrounded by a short wire fence, but it was a pathetic attempt at security if that was indeed its purpose. Maurice climbed over it easily and head towards a lake, whose waters glistened in the moonlight through the trees. Once there, he looked around for a decent sized rock. It had to be heavy enough that it would sink to the bottom of the lake but not so heavy that Maurice with his athletic limitations couldn’t throw it a decent distance. There were plenty of small to medium-sized rocks to choose from and it didn’t take him long to find the best one. He wrapped the strap of the night-vision goggles around it and pulled the straps tight. He then stuffed the balaclava between the strap and the rock so that it couldn’t fall out.

  “Please don’t let me down now,” he whispered to himself as he launched the missile into the air towards the centre of the lake. He felt a physical sigh of relief as the rock and its payload plunged into the lake, far from the shoreline, and sank without a trace.

  He still wasn’t far enough away from the footballer’s house so he carried on running through the woodland to where he hoped there would be another road. He hadn’t heard any police sirens. That had to be a good sign. His luck was in and soon found himself staring at a main road. He waited a few seconds before leaving the wood and then had to immediately duck back amongst the trees as two police cars flashed by.

  Once the coast was clear, Maurice walked along the road in the direction of the town centre, keeping his eyes open for more police cars. He was tempted to hide again when he saw more headlights approaching, but, as luck would have it, the lights belonged to a taxi with no passengers.

  “May as well.” thought Maurice as he flagged the car down. The car stopped and Maurice slid into the back seat.

  “Where to, mate?”