Project Icarus - Disavowed Series 01 (2021)

by Shah, R D

The voice was familiar, although Munroe couldn’t quite place it. “Speaking.”

  “Captain Munroe, this is Jacob Ryan, Home Secretary. Pleasure to meet you. I’m sorry it has to be under such dire circumstances. I hope that Mr McCitrick has brought you up to speed.”

  Munroe glanced over at ‘Boris’ and grinned. “McCitrick! Yes, sir. He has.”

  “Good, then I don’t need to tell you how sensitive this is. Your offer to help in this matter on behalf of Her Majesty’s government is greatly appreciated, and of course comes under the Official Secrets Act.”

  “I understand, Minister.”

  “Excellent. Mr McCitrick has my full confidence in this matter and he reports directly to me, and me only.”

  “Thank you for the clarification, sir.”

  “No, thank you, Captain, and godspeed. I look forward to receiving your report.”

  The line then went dead and Munroe passed the phone back into Doris’s waiting palm. She pocketed it before outstretching her hand. “Jaqueline Sloan, but you can call me Jax.” Munroe shook her hand tightly and offered a mutual nod of respect as she continued, “Captain with the Royal Marines. Those are my credentials.”

  Munroe now turned to ‘Boris’, who didn’t offer a handshake.

  “John McCitrick, and that phone call you just took… they’re my credentials.”

  Chapter 7

  The lone figure of a decrepit old man slowly made his way up the dirt road as a solitary street lamp flickered overhead, sending shadows across the cracked pink plaster of a small building opposite. With little more than a shuffle the man took a few more steps and came to a stop next to the street lamp, and with his eyes wincing looked up at the twinkling bulb and gave a disappointed shake of his head. Placing his black leather suitcase on the ground next to him he then slid his shirt sleeve up to the elbow and raised his quivering hand upwards before bringing it down against the pole with a thud. Up above the light bulb ceased its flickering and the man pulled his shirt sleeve back down, picked up his suitcase and once more began slowly walking down the street to the last building on it.

  He was within metres of the doorway when behind him the street lamp began flickering once again, and the old man merely flipped his free hand downwards in annoyance. It was a strange reversal of mind, he thought, that the older he got, the more the small things bothered him, rather than the big things.

  With a few more steps he reached the front door of a respectable-looking white bungalow, and pulled a key from his pocket which he slipped into the lock and turned. With a well-oiled click the door swung open and the old men entered the darkness and placed his bag down on the floor before reaching over to one side and pressing the light switch.

  The front room was lit up by an overhead light and lining its walls were a series of small wall lamps covered by frosted glass, illuminating the room with a cosy hue. The old man closed the door behind him and made his way to the central coffee table opposite a thirty-inch plasma TV, and plopped his bag onto the clean, grey leather couch in front of it. He raised his arms outwards and stretched his back shakily, raising his head upwards, and with a satisfied yawn made his way towards the darkness of the kitchen opposite. He gently pressed the inside light switch with his forefinger and looked downwards with a wince as his eyes adjusted to the glare.

  “Hola, Senhor Ferreira.”

  The old man jerked backwards uncomfortably as he turned to see a man sitting at his extended oak leaf kitchen table, slouching back on the furthest chair. “I hope I didn’t scare you.”

  “That’s exactly what you meant to do, idiot,” Ferreira berated in a heavy Portuguese accent. “I told you never to come unannounced.”

  His guest’s mischievous smile told him all he needed to know as the man sat upright in the chair and tucked his purple short-sleeve shirt tightly into the top of his jeans.

  “I’m afraid time is of the essence, and I didn’t want to hang around outside to be mistaken for a burglar by one of your neighbours.”

  Ferreira looked puzzled by the response and he picked up two whisky glasses off the counter and placed one on either side of the kitchen table. He then pulled a bottle of Macallan single malt Scotch whisky from the polished wall rack and began unscrewing the cap before pouring a shot into his guest’s glass until the man tapped its rim.

  “And what’s so important to bring you all the way out here?” Ferreira asked gently as he began to pour his own glass.

  “Icarus.”

  Ferreira stopped pouring and left the whisky bottle hovering over his glass apprehensively for a few moments before continuing to top up his glass. “What news?”

  The man waited for his host to place the cap back on the bottle and take a seat before raising his glass. “Thanks to him our timeline has changed. We must proceed now.”

  The guest’s voice had an Eastern European twinge to it, putting a heavy emphasis on the word ‘proceed’, and although Ferreira looked uncomfortable at the news he still raised his glass dutifully before taking a deep sip, almost polishing off the drink in one gulp.

  “But my work isn’t finished,” he replied, flinching at the sharp bite of his whisky. “The new batch is proving far more impressive than the last.”

  The guest took another, smaller sip from his glass and offered an affable smile. “Your work, your results, have been more than anyone could have hoped for, Senhor Ferreira. It has been the cornerstone of everything we have sought to build, but we all knew this day would come. And it’s a day we should be proud and welcoming of.”

  Ferreira looked sceptical and he leant forward with both elbows on the table’s lacquered surface, his hands clasping one another tightly as if in prayer. “If I could have just another few short years, then the results it would yield would be the ultimate accomplishment, and—”

  The guest sternly flicked his finger towards Ferreira, silencing the older man instantly. “Your work has been accomplished, and now it is time to move forward. It’s time your dedication was rewarded.”

  “But the work is my reward,” Ferreira spluttered excitedly, still not quite ready to concede.

  “Where we are going there will be much more for you to do… but this part of the adventure is now over.”

  Ferreira’s excited expression began to melt and after a few moments of staring into empty space he slowly began to nod his head. “I understand. How long do we have?”

  The guest pushed his chair back and stood up. He then moved over to Ferreira, grasped his underarm and gently pulled the man to his feet. “Soon. Within the next twenty-four hours. I will take care of the logistics. But I need all of the data, everything, backups as well. There must be zero chance of any record falling into the wrong hands.”

  Ferreira gave a short nod and he stood up and made his way into the front room with his guest in tow. He knelt down by the nearest electricity outlet, pulled away the white plastic front cover and then poked his fingers inside and retrieved two blue memory cards. “Original and backup,” he said, getting to his feet and passing them into his guest’s waiting hand. “They contain everything, but there is also some documentation back at the office which will need to be destroyed.” Ferreira pulled a bunch of keys from his pocket and wriggled off one of the Yale keys, which he also passed over. “This will let you in.”

  The guest smiled, then patted him on the back and began to make his way over to the front door. “Leave it to me. I will take care of that, and when I return we can run through your travel plans. I would begin packing though.” The guest paused and turned back towards Ferreira. “Think of what is to come, Senhor.”

  “Yes, I know. But what of everything we will lose?”

  The guest wagged his finger at this. “Not lose. Think of everything I will gain. Now come and see me off.”

  The guest ushered the old man towards him with a wave of his arm. As Ferreira passed by and reached for the front door handle he suddenly froze.

  “Wait, what do you mean, ‘I’?”

&nb
sp; The thin metal wire of a garrotte was thrown around his neck and tightened with such speed that it had already sliced a centimetre into his wrinkled flesh before he had time to react. As it sunk deeper, Ferreira scratched at his throat in vain, blood now dripping from the thin wound, and he forced out his last words in a gurgle as the wire reached his trachea and carved through like a hot knife through wax. “Hans… Why?”

  Hans Bauer stared downwards at the old man, now crumpling to his knees, his expression cold and unforgiving as he pulled tighter on the garotte handles. Blood was now pouring down Ferreira’s neck as the wire cut through both carotid arteries and the assault continued until he felt the metal grinding against the front of the old man’s spine. Bauer, still pulling tightly, dipped his head towards Ferreira’s ear and whispered, “All good things must come to an end… and your journey ends here.”

  Only now did Bauer ease his grip and uncoil the garrotte, having to dislodge it from Ferreira’s throat with a hard tug, sending the old man to the floor with a dull thud. He then reached over and opened the front door to reveal two men wearing black balaclavas, plastic hospital shoe coverings and blue latex gloves over their clothes.

  The two men said nothing and with a nod from Bauer they closed the door and began unwrapping a green tarpaulin from a bag. The body was already being rolled into the plastic sheeting as Bauer sauntered back to the kitchen where he picked up the two whisky glasses, gave them a quick wash in the sink and, using a nearby dishcloth, held them up to the light checking for fingerprints before placing them back on the counter. “Just in case.” He then returned to the front room and watched as the body of Ferreira was packed tightly in the tarpaulin with plastic zip ties at both ends.

  “Dispose of the body as agreed. I don’t want it ever found,” Bauer said coldly before tapping the closest man to him on the shoulder. “I will see you when you’re finished. There is much still to be done.”

  Chapter 8

  The sky was clear as sunrise broke, and although unusually overcast the white cliffs of Dover could be seen off in the distance as the man slammed his axe into the thick chunk of wood, splitting it in half with a hefty whack. Leaning the axe against a small pile of logs, Michael Hanks reached down to pick up four of the pieces and proceeded to slip them underneath his arm before raising his head skywards, breathing in the fresh, salty air. Content, he headed back towards the small French villa and made his way inside, dropping his gatherings beside the open hearth full of burning red embers.

  The front room looked like something out of the 1940s, with a worn olive green couch placed in front of the hearth on a bare wooden floor. No paintings or ornaments graced the room and the cracked pink plastered walls only added to the already dull ambience.

  “He’s awake and ready for you, sir. I’ll be up here if you need me.”

  Hanks gave a simple nod and then slipped off his grey knitted skullcap, which he dropped onto the armrest of the couch. He then headed past the waiting man and slowly down the tight staircase to the basement below. Each step produced a squeaking sound of strained wood. He came to a stop at the last, whereupon he looked over to the solitary man in handcuffs, seated on a metal chair, shirtless and barefoot in the centre of a dank empty room, staring blankly at the concrete floor. Above him a sturdy nylon climbing rope had been run between the man’s bound hands overhead to a series of discoloured steel water pipes that ran the length of the room, juddering rhythmically as they transported their contents to the boiler somewhere up above.

  “You’ve put us in a real bind, Icarus,” Hanks said glumly. He hopped off the last step and strolled over until he was just a few feet away. “You’ve made a lot of people very unhappy and put the whole project in jeopardy. Timelines have had to change, and you know how sensitive it is.”

  Icarus emitted a contemptuous laugh before looking up to face his captor. “Just doing what I needed to do.”

  Hanks’s eyes dulled and he shook his head melodramatically. “No, what you were meant to do was exactly as you were told. But now I’m wondering if you were ever even capable of obeying orders. Perhaps we misidentified your potential for such things. You wouldn’t be the first. Would you?”

  This last sentence garnered a devilish look from Icarus, and although his lips tightened in anger he remained silent as the man gazed upon him as if he was a curiosity to be observed.

  “If I didn’t know better I would think you wanted to be caught. Have you been feeling left out… did you want us to rescue you, forcing us to reveal ourselves?”

  Hanks leant down to him with both hands in his pockets and his eyes full of unease. “Or was it something more, something closer to your heart. In some twisted, sick way do you see Ethan Munroe as… a brother in arms?”

  Icarus suddenly looked dejected, and his nostrils flared as his emotions momentarily got the better of him.

  “Jesus Christ. You do, don’t you? You insane son of a bitch.”

  Hanks stood back up, pulled his hands from his pockets and clapped them together as he let out a deep bellow of a laugh, and then without hesitation his expression turned sour and hateful as he slapped Icarus across the face hard with the back of his hand. “You fucked up, son. You fucked up royally.”

  Icarus barely winced, his split lip trailing a thin drop of blood down his chin while Hanks massaged his striking hand.

  “My daddy was a hunter. He bred coonhounds for the chase. Tough little bastards those dogs, and fearless to a fault, but the real key is in the breeding. You get the right match, the right genetics, and the offspring are pure gold. Strong, fearless and loyal to their masters. Not a thing they won’t do when told to. But in any litter there’s always one that has all those qualities, and yet there’s just something not right. Can’t say if it’s the ass end of inbreeding but when they look at you there’s something… not all there. Something going on behind those eyes that’s unquantifiable, leery, mistrustful. And you have no choice but to put that puppy to sleep.” Hanks now glanced up at the ceiling as if searching for some reasoning. “I love animals and I don’t like doing it. Hell, I’m a vegetarian. But it has to be done, for the greater good.”

  He gazed back down at Icarus, who was now staring at him menacingly, and lifted up his coat to reveal a black SIG Sauer P320 poking out from beneath his belt. “But I want to give you a chance, son.” Hanks lowered his coat to conceal the gun. “Yes, you’ve caused us a lot a lot of trouble, but it’s not what we do know that concerns us so much as what we don’t. If you hadn’t been caught then we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Hell, we probably would have left you to your own devices, but bringing this Ethan Munroe into the fray and getting arrested, well, we need to know what you’ve been saying, and to who.”

  Icarus continued to stare up at his captor with resentment. He knew the real reason why they had brought him here but he remained silent as Hanks continued, now trying to sound ever friendlier. Good cop and bad cop all rolled into one.

  “Personally I don’t believe you let slip any of our arrangements or names, but Mr Bauer and the top honchos aren’t as convinced given your rogue behaviour of late. Can’t say I blame them, but with so much at stake it’s hardly surprising.” Hanks got down on one knee and looked up at Icarus. “If you did run your mouth then tell me exactly what you said and it’s a problem that can be dealt with. Do this and I promise you I will release those cuffs and send you on your merry way. With the proviso,” Hanks raised his finger in the air, “that you stay underground just for the next few days, until the event has taken place. After that, things are going to change and you can come along for the ride, which I know you want to. But, if you have said something to the authorities during your arrest and you don’t tell me, then there’s nothing I can do for you.”

  Icarus thought about it for a moment and then he smiled. “Whether I told anyone anything or not you’re going to kill me regardless, but if I escape then I’m free anyway.”

  Hanks was already beginning to laugh even before
Icarus finished his sentence, and he stood back up and took a few steps backwards before raising his hands in the air. “And where would you go, friend? We were able to arrange your audacious escape from custody within only a few hours of a heads-up. Imagine if we had the whole lot of us tracking you down. And you’re forgetting, son – in under a couple of days’ time, when the big show’s over, it’ll free everyone up and they’ll rain down on you with full force. There wouldn’t be a rock you could hide under. But no point in daydreaming. You’re here, with us, and that ain’t changing anytime soon.”

  Hanks stepped back and hovered over Icarus like a predator eyeing its prey. “Don’t you see, this is your only chance for redemption, and if you don’t tell me what I need to know then you know what comes next. It won’t matter how tough you think you are, there’s only so much a human being can take. We’ll break you. The only question is how long it’ll take.”

  Hanks again got down on his knees, his face displaying genuine empathy. “You’ve done so much for us. Why throw it all away for reasons I can’t even grasp? It’d be a damn shame, and when we’re so close as well. Now, all I need to know is, did you tell anyone anything about what we’ve got planned in London? Simple as that. Or,” Hanks licked his lips, “we’re going to have to work on you.”

  The threat barely registered and Icarus continued to stare at his captor with contempt. “You better get started then.”

  Hanks looked down at the ground and sighed deeply, before getting to his feet and heading back over to the stairwell. “Davies, get down here!” The sound of heavy footsteps made their way across the floor above them and then down the stairs to where Hanks was waiting.

  “It’s going to be the hard way,” Hanks said, pointing over to Icarus, who was now just staring at the filthy basement floor. “I’d suggest starting with cutting before you bother with truth serum. Soften him up a bit. Start with the toes and work your way up to the fingers. I’d leave his testicles for later in case we need to deliver some electric shock therapy.”