Immediately, a smile crossed his face as he examined the contents. There was no evidence of moisture penetration, as he anticipated, and all was as he had left it. Firstly, he took out the length of coiled climbers’ rope, cable ties and duct tape, placing them all in the open rucksack. Next, he picked up the mobile phone, removing the cover and slotting in the battery from his own handset, deliberately chosen to be interchangeable. Switching it on, he watched as the screen illuminated and went through its start-up process. Putting the phone in his jacket pocket he returned his focus to the container. A re-sealable bag came out, the three hundred pounds in used tens and twenties were swiftly transferred to his pockets.
A bottle of drain cleaner and a pack of refuse sacks were added to the rucksack. Retrieving a small red and white cardboard box, he opened it to reveal it was full to capacity. Lastly, he took out the semi-automatic pistol and checked it over. The slide was well greased and moved with ease back and forth as did the hammer action. Several years of military service had taught him how to prepare a firearm for these conditions. Releasing the magazine, he loaded it with rounds from the cardboard box and, having replaced it, chambered one. Ensuring first that the safety was on, he put the weapon in the pack alongside everything else.
Quickly reattaching the lid, he buried the container once more, covering the disturbed earth with detritus that he found lying around. Finally, he collapsed the shovel and returned that to the rucksack. Lifting it onto his shoulders he bore the newly acquired weight with ease. With a last glance at the ground, content that almost any sign of his presence was fleeting, he set off back towards the car park. The family came to mind once more and he wondered whether they had reached their car and set off already. A wave of exhilaration passed over him and he fought to subdue it. This wasn’t the time. Although, he had been raised to never look a gift horse in the mouth and for a brief moment he considered breaking into a run before quelling the urge. That was getting harder and harder as time passed. The recognition of that fact made him stop to draw breath.
There was a process and it was successful. One that had been developed through experience and had never failed him. Why should he change it now? Was this becoming mundane? Perhaps it was time to broaden his horizons a little bit, mix up the status quo. Maybe so, but not today. That would require some thought. Unless an opportunity presented itself again, of course. That would signal something else was at work, a power far greater than him.
Retracing his steps back to the trail, as the sunshine broke through the clouds in ever greater bursts, he made it to the car park soon after. The family had made worse time than predicted and were still loading the car as he approached. The mother smiled warmly in his direction before leaning in and clipping their daughter’s seatbelt in place. The father offered a small wave of acknowledgement. No doubt his pride slightly dented at having to ask a stranger for help in finding their way. Their son was hopping around in the rear, apparently searching for something lost amongst their gear.
Whistling a nameless tune his thoughts drifted to the contents of his rucksack, all easily accessible if required. He must have slipped into a daydream of possibilities because he found the father staring at him as he finished stowing their kit, closing the boot to their people carrier. He looked on as the family closed their doors, the father casually walking around to the driver’s side and taking out his keys. The man stopped and glanced over towards him. At that moment he realised he had stopped walking and was standing in the middle of the car park, watching intently. Still, he didn’t move.
The excitement was building once again. This coming weekend was shaping up to be a great one.
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First published by Hamilton Press in 2018
Copyright © J M Dalgliesh, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Acknowledgements
I will always be indebted to my small, and incredibly select, team who managed to assist in delivering this novel. From the encouragement of my stronger half, Helen, who never doubted my creative abilities, through to my copy editors, Dr Ana Mackintosh and Andrew Wood, I owe you much. Many others, too many to list here, if I’m honest, have provided encouragement as I embarked on this new course in my life. Several of whom are authors themselves and have always been willing to share their personal knowledge and experience, for no other reason than to provide support to a like-minded soul.
I must convey my gratitude to Eve Seymour, for assisting me in crafting my enthusiastic efforts into a working novel, as well as for the extra guidance on how to survive in the literary world. Not least, for briefing me on the Tsunami Effect which features in this story.
A writer has a fragile confidence and encouragement carries one through the dark places.
Thank you all, from the bottom of my heart.
Divided House (Dark Yorkshire Book 1) Page 34