Botha, however, was one of the best, a South African who had been born into the Templar family, and as such was someone Harker and Brulet could count on one hundred per cent. The fact that he was built like a brick shithouse helped and, even though he stood only five foot five inches tall, his expertise with weapons and training within the UK counterterrorism services, amongst other intelligence agencies, made him a highly formidable asset within the organisation.
‘Sorry for the interruption, Chloe,’ Botha said with his usual gracious demeanour, ‘but I need to borrow him.’
To Chloe’s credit she didn’t bat an eyelid but simply offered Harker another kiss on the cheek and a wave of the hand before heading back inside the church. ‘Just have him back by dinnertime,’ she said.
‘I’ll do my best,’ Botha replied.
The two men stood alone in the small graveyard in front of the church.
‘What’s going on?’ Harker asked, noticing how wide-eyed the young Templar looked.
‘We’ve got a location. We have to go.’
This reply now had Harker looking wide-eyed too. ‘Where? When?’
‘Just now and you’re not going believe where.’
‘Well, go on,’ Harker urged impatiently, irritated at being left out of the loop yet again today.
‘Only twenty minutes away from here. They’re holed up at the moment, but there’s no telling for how long.’ Harker sifted the answer through his mind as Botha continued enthusiastically, ‘Either it’s a one hell of a stroke of luck they’re so close, or—’
‘Or they’ve been keeping tabs on me this whole time,’ Harker replied, feeling a sense of excitement and dread rolled into one.
‘Exactly,’ Botha replied. ‘Seems it’s either now or never.’
Harker needed no further encouragement. ‘Let’s go,’ he growled, and without another word they began walking swiftly down the path towards the modest gravel car park ahead, before the familiar voice of Doggie called out, ‘Alex, where are you going?’
‘Get the car started, I’ll be there in a moment,’ Harker instructed his companion before turning back towards the church. With a nod Botha took off at a jog.
‘They’ve found them,’ Harker explained to Doggie, surprised by the growing excitement he felt. ‘They’re only twenty minutes away.’
‘That close! Bloody hell.’ Doggie looked shocked.
‘I know – and there’s no time to waste.’
‘Then you’d better get going already.’
Doggie was already waving a hand in the direction of the black four-door Range Rover now pulling towards the car park exit. ‘And don’t worry about her father. By the time I’ve finished schmoozing him, he’ll reckon you’re the gold standard amongst sons-in-law. You just take care of yourself.’
‘Cheers, Tom,’ Harker replied and he was about to head for the waiting car when Doggie offered one last piece of advice.
‘And for God’s sake, be careful.’
‘You too.’ Harker nodded towards the church where he could just make out Mr Stanton in deep conversation with Chloe, no doubt discussing her poor choice in men. ‘I’ll catch up with you later.’
Harker turned to the waiting Range Rover, his mind focusing on the job at hand. How long had they been following him? He knew the dangers and had realised they would track him, but to now be so close meant an attack was not just on the cards, but imminent.
Harker slid into the front passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. Inside he found Botha at the wheel and two other members of his security detail, both Templars suited from head to toe in black Kevlar body armour, sitting patiently in the back seat. Not a word was said and within seconds they were driving at high speed towards the motorway.
The sun was already going down over the trees and melting into a dark red hue amongst their branches. As he watched the countryside go by, Harker began to mull over the nature of this trip. He’d be lying to himself if he pretended he didn’t have a pang of nervousness in his stomach, but he couldn’t allow himself to indulge in such a feeling right now. He was the Templars’ Jarl, a role that carried great weight within the Order. Many people now relied on him to make the right decisions, and although tonight was not a regular part of his job, it was nonetheless a sobering reminder of the position he had accepted. Tonight’s events would put the problem to bed for good, and he knew it.
Either with success. Or with his own death.
Chapter 3
Dark clouds shrouded the sky above as Harker warily made his way towards the run-down brick building, each of his steps slower than the last. This abandoned farmhouse appeared more like a demolition site, and even though the storage sheds were still intact, it would need more than some TLC to bring it back up to working order. The cement rendering on the exterior walls showed years of erosion by the elements and much had fallen away, leaving piles of rubble strewn on the grass below. Curiously the building had no windows so far as Harker could see, and with its solitary metal door in the middle and a flat metal cast roof extending over the deserted structure, it looked more like a giant oven than the farmhouse Botha had informed him it was.
A rustling in the bordering hedgerow sent him down on one knee and he paused in the silence to scan the shadowy undergrowth for any sign of movement. Satisfied it had been nothing more than a gust of wind, he stood back upright only to realise that his overcoat had dipped into a muddy puddle, and he cursed himself for not changing garments beforehand. For a suit, tie and overcoat were hardly the best outfit, given where he was, but there had been so little time. And time, as Botha had insisted, was of the essence.
Harker once again began to navigate his way along the cracked tarmac path. Apart from the creepy surroundings there was something else that didn’t feel right here, and as he quietly approached the metal door, it dawned on him what that was.
There were no sounds of wildlife.
It was strange, because at the edge of the property he’d heard a chattering of nocturnal animals doing their nightly rounds, and even what sounded like a tawny owl cooing its presence into the night air. But now… just silence.
It wasn’t until he reached the door itself and saw the faded red lettering above it that this suddenly made sense.
‘Tockenham Abattoir,’ Harker muttered quietly to himself. Animals weren’t fools and the constant smell of death usually meant that most of them kept their distance from places such as this. But given that it must have been abandoned years ago, surely it would have been reclaimed by the various countryside species by now. Unless someone was still using it for something.
Harker grasped the metal door handle and gave it a light yank, but nothing budged. It was obviously locked tight, so he now headed around the side of the building to explore further, maintaining the same meticulous stealth he had adopted so far. If this was the place, then the last thing he needed was to alert anyone to his presence.
Not yet, anyway.
With the last traces of sunset cresting on the horizon, he could make out the shadowy outline of additional buildings connected to the ‘oven’, and a row of rectangular warehouses with what looked like corrugated sheets making up their exterior walls. An educated guess suggested holding stalls for doomed animals past. Poking his head over the top of the closest one, Harker found it as deserted as he had expected. The floors comprised only dry, caked mud and clumps of blackened dung, no doubt a parting gift from its previous occupants.
With nothing else to see, Harker was about retrace his steps back to the front entrance, with the idea of attempting to pry it open somehow, when something else caught his eye and he squinted up inquisitively. Just above the bushy treetops to his left rose the hazy silhouette of something and so, with footsteps carefully placed through assorted debris, he made his way to the edge of the trees and peered around – to spot something that brought him to a standstill.
A crumbling, three-storey Victorian house loomed ominously in front of him like a monumental warning to anyon
e that came across it. It wasn’t a wide building but it towered upwards to a sharp, sloping, slate-tiled roof, with boarded-up windows at each floor level. From the roof two large cone-shaped turrets rose proudly, like pointed ears, which added to the sense of foreboding. The highest point of the structure was at the far right, where a tall brick chimney rose a metre higher even than the top of the turrets. In better days this place would have been an impressive residence, but the passage of time and lack of maintenance had transformed it into a deathtrap that only a fool would enter now.
And I am that fool, Harker mused as he tentatively advanced towards the derelict building after slipping past the loose-mesh fence that stood untidily around it. Whoever had set it up clearly had no real wish to prevent exploring teenagers from entering it, probably hoping the collapsing look of the place would do that job for them.
Parts of the brickwork had long since fallen away, revealing sections of desiccated wooden beams, but the most troubling sight of all was at the mid-point of the façade, where the foundations had weakened enough to cause the right-hand turret to lean inwards precariously.
As the sunset in the distance now extinguished any final vestiges of perceived safety, Harker moved closer to the doorway-sized plywood board covering the building’s main entrance. He carefully laid a hand upon its grainy surface and then gently shoved against it. It didn’t budge an inch, probably nailed shut from the inside. Noting all the windows were similarly boarded up, he slunk around to the rear of the house, keeping a safe distance from the wall for fear of bumping against it and bringing the whole structure down on top of him.
As he turned the corner at the rear, a light blinked somewhere off to his right, and he instinctively pulled back and slammed against the brickwork, wincing as he glanced upwards, half expecting to glimpse a shower of bricks dropping towards him. Thankfully there were none to be seen.
With renewed caution Harker peered again around the corner to spot a thin gap between the boards covering one of the ground-floor windows, through which a sparkle of light emanated.
The house was occupied.
He crept cautiously over and pressed his eye to the gap, but the narrow angle offered nothing more than a view of the entire length of the interior wall. So he moved further along the building’s rear until he finally came across what he was looking for. The back door was covered in peeling green paint and although it bore a number of jagged scratch marks across its surface, which briefly caused Harker concern, at least it wasn’t boarded up. After taking a deep breath to steady himself, he reached for the handle and applied a light pressure.
The door itself offered no resistance and Harker glanced inside. Once satisfied the room beyond was empty, he headed further into the house.
The kitchen he found himself in was as much of a wreck as the building’s exterior. All the fittings had been ripped out at some point, leaving patches of fresh wallpaper where years of sunlight had not faded the colours. The bright lightbulb hanging above showed that at least the building had electricity, but given the wretched state of the interior, it was a wonder why. Deeper within the house the sound of footsteps answered his question and Harker leaned up against the only other doorway in the room to hear more clearly. He froze as the sound stopped as quickly as it had started. Apart from a few aching groans from the house itself there was now complete silence, and he cautiously poked his head around the partly open doorway and surveyed the connecting passage.
The adjoining hallway was just as charming and offered the kind of squalor and privacy that only a crack addict could truly appreciate. It was completely void of any decor, with only dull and scuffed dark brown floorboards, but these seemed appealing compared to the moss-coated, floral wallpaper hanging in tattered strips off the walls.
On the far side of the hallway a single stairway led up to the first floor. The whole space was covered in dust and decaying brown leaves that had presumably been blown in from some other part of the building. What really caught Harker’s eye though was the collection of boot imprints disfiguring the floor, along with a pair of narrow tyre marks that could have been made only by a wheelchair. And they all led to one place: a crusty-looking doorway positioned directly under the rising staircase.
With a light step Harker slowly moved over to it and inclined his head towards the low doorway.
The scuffle of shoes on the other side of the room had him jerking backwards, and he leapt into the stairwell, then lay back against it, using the bottom of the end bannister as cover when the door was flung open and someone burst through it, slamming it behind them and letting out a frustrated yell.
Harker couldn’t see the individual’s face but he already knew who it was, for those greasy dreadlocks were a dead giveaway. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out the oversized black pistol and rose to his feet with the weapon aimed directly at the newcomer’s neck. ‘Legrundy!’ he shouted, then watched as she froze before slowly turning to face him.
Avi Legrundy, the butcher and fanatical assassin for the Mithras cult, looked momentarily shocked, but as she gazed upon Harker with those cold, dead eyes he remembered so vividly, a sneaky smile crept across her face.
‘Alex Harker!’ she declared, now seemingly happy to see him. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon.’
That acknowledgement confirmed what Harker already knew and he offered simply a nod of his head as the psychotic killer remained motionless. ‘I’ve been tracking you for a while,’ he declared.
She appeared unmoved by his admission. ‘And I you, brother.’
The fact that she believed the pair of them were somehow connected left a sour taste in Harker’s mouth and he moved off the staircase and approached to within a few metres of her, the gun still aiming in her direction. ‘I’m not your brother, Legrundy, but I am here to put an end to your madness,’ Harker replied firmly, and he moved over to the main boarded-up window and slammed his foot into it, loosening all the nails and sending the section of plywood tumbling downwards into the darkness outside.
‘There is a back door, you know,’ Legrundy said condescendingly, as Harker moved back to face her directly, the barrel of his gun aimed at her chest.
‘Anyone else here?’ he asked, and the question received a slow shake of Legrundy’s head.
‘You know I work alone, Alex.’
‘Not any more. Your work permit has been rescinded.’
Legrundy looked at him blank-faced for a moment before she burst into a fit of genuine laughter. ‘Dat, Professor, is adorable,’ she mocked, and continued to laugh out loud, so much so that she leant forwards, gripping her stomach tightly. ‘I’d wager you’ve been saving up that little line for a while now.’
Sadly Harker had indeed mulled this line over in his head many times, yet now that he had actually spoken it, he had to admit she was right: it did sound pretty stupid. But he refused to let it show and he now dipped the barrel of the gun towards the floor.
‘On your knees,’ Harker ordered calmly as he pulled a set of handcuffs from his back pocket and threw them on the wooden boards. ‘It’s over. Put them on, arms behind your back.’
The sound of a creaking floorboard erupted from somewhere in the room behind her, and Harker immediately directed his weapon at the door – just as Legrundy began to smile, revealing those bright, pearly white teeth of hers.
He shot her a distrustful look as the door slowly swung inwards. The long barrel of a Steyr AUG assault rifle was pointed at him, as its owner, a stocky man with a thick neck and hairy forearms, moved slowly out from the shadows beyond and into view. Simultaneously a blonde-haired woman with a ponytail appeared from the kitchen doorway, holding the same type of rifle aimed directly at him. Harker swiftly moved his sights back and forth between the two intruders as they took up position on either side of Legrundy.
Each of them was dressed like a tramp in filthy trousers and a heavy jacket riddled with rips and stains, and the man wore a black skullcap with the message “No Fear�
�� embroidered on the front.
Harker felt his heart begin to beat faster as Legrundy calmly reached down, picked up the handcuffs and threw them back at him, so they came to a rest inches from his feet.
‘Now drop the gun and you put them on,’ she hissed through tight lips, while she motioned to the two gun-proficient tramps standing next to her. ‘Alone? I’m afraid I lied to you.’
As she looked on with a grin spreading across her face, Harker held his now somewhat pathetic-looking pistol up in one hand and, after raising his free palm towards them submissively, slowly reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small teardrop-shaped piece of plastic.
Legrundy stared at the seemingly inoffensive item as Harker pressed it twice with his thumb and then dropped it to the floor. ‘I’m afraid I lied as well.’
A tiny, bright red laser dot appeared on Legrundy’s chest even as another two appeared on the gun-toting tramps’ jackets, and she immediately snapped her focus towards the open window from which Harker had kicked the plywood board covering only moments earlier.
‘It’s over, Legrundy,’ Harker yelled, moving quickly to one side of the window. ‘Tell your friends to put their weapons down.’
The dreadlocked assassin scowled at him as the two armed tramps, rifles still raised, both looked to her for instructions. As Harker watched the killers’ eyes begin to squint, he already knew the answer.
It was a look that Botha and his team clearly recognised as well through their telescopic lenses, and a barrage of tranquilliser darts slapped hard into all three of them, before Legrundy displayed her usual instinctive prowess and dived head first through the kitchen doorway and out of sight.
The Shadow Conspiracy Page 2