Garrett & Petrus- The Complete Series

by C Marten-Zerf

  Garrett cursed himself for being so unobservant.

  ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ he said and he picked her up in his arms as he ran.

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ she argued.

  ‘Sure you will,’ said Garrett. ‘But I’ll just carry you for a while, okay?’

  She nodded and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was fast asleep.

  The two warriors sped up; breaking into a fast lope and an hour later they were ensconced in the small cave system that Garrett had talked about.

  Petrus took first watch. He woke Garrett two hours later.

  ‘No sign of anyone,’ he whispered.

  Garrett nodded and took over.

  The young girl slept on solidly without moving.

  Chapter 6

  An hour before sunrise, Garrett had left Petrus looking after the young girl and he had run around the perimeter of the laird’s holdings, finding his way back to the Land Rover.

  He drove the transport close to the caves and then went to fetch his friend and the girl.

  They made their way back to the transport, clambered in and Garrett set off for the nearest village with a decent sized police station.

  ‘We’ll head for Carrbridge,’ he said. ‘Probably stop at Moy, there’s a cop shop there with more than a single Bobby in it. That’s the place to go.’

  ‘If you say so,’ said Petrus.

  ‘I do,’ continued Garrett. ‘Should take us about half an hour to get there. Now, my girl. First things first, are you feeling alright? Would you like a drink of water or something to eat?’

  The girl shook her head.

  ‘I’m Garrett. This here is Petrus. Your name?’

  ‘I’m Lindsey. Lindsey Parker. I’m from Islington in London. Those assholes kidnapped me three days ago, drugged me up and brought me here. Wherever here is.’

  ‘Here is Scotland,’ said Garrett.

  ‘Can I use one of your phones?’ She asked. ‘I need to phone my dad.’

  ‘I don’t have a phone,’ admitted Garrett. ‘Used to, but it broke and I didn’t replace it.’

  Petrus shrugged. ‘Don’t look at me, I’m on holiday. Why would I need a phone?’

  Lindsey rolled her eyes. ‘What are you guys, Amish or something? Who doesn’t carry a bloody phone nowadays?’

  ‘You can phone him at the police station,’ said Garrett. ‘It won’t be long now.’

  Lindsey nodded and lay back in her seat.

  ‘Why did those guys kidnap you?’ Asked Petrus.

  ‘I don’t know,’ snapped Lindsey. ‘I’m not Sherlock Holmes.’

  Petrus grinned. ‘Maybe we take you back and see if they can sort your smart mouth out for you. You think?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ apologized Lindsey in a small voice. ‘It’s just that I’ve had a shitty few days.’

  ‘How old are you?’ Asked the Zulu.

  ‘Twelve. Well, eleven. Almost twelve.’

  ‘You swear too much for an eleven almost twelve year old, you know that?’

  Lindsey shrugged. ‘I hang around with older people most of the time.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m sort of a child genius.’

  ‘Really?’ Asked Petrus the disbelief evident on his face.

  ‘Yes really, mister doubting Thomas. IQ of 145, already been accepted into Oxford, start in two years time. Advanced mathematics.’

  ‘Impressive,’ admitted Petrus.

  ‘Maybe I’m lying,’ quipped Lindsey.

  Petrus shook his head. ‘Maybe, but I don’t think so.’

  ‘What does your father do?’ Asked Garrett.

  ‘He’s a science geek,’ answered Lindsey. ‘Lectures at Oxford, does some work for private companies.’

  ‘Is he wealthy?’

  She shook her head. ‘No way. He inherited some money. Enough to pay off the house. Not enough to get a new car.’

  ‘And your mother?’ Continued Garrett.

  ‘And my mother nothing,’ said Lindsey. ‘She walked out on us six years ago. Spoken to her maybe four times since. She’s a right bitch.’

  ‘This doesn’t make any sense,’ said Garrett. ‘There must be a reason that they kidnapped you. And a bloody good reason considering all the trouble that they went to.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Lindsey. ‘I just want to phone my dad and go home.’

  ‘Well we’re almost there,’ said Garrett as they drove into the small town and he headed for the high street. ‘The cop shop is down here.’

  He navigated down the high street and then pulled in, opposite the police station. It was situated in an old Victorian building. Red brick, large windows and a blue double door. Outside the main doors, attached to the wall with a curly Victorian metal bracket, was an old fashioned blue lamp with the words, ‘Police’ painted in white on the glass.

  ‘Wait here,’ he instructed Petrus and Lindsey. ‘I’m going to have a chat, then I’ll call you in.’

  ‘I’ll come with,’ said Lindsey.

  ‘No, stay.’

  ‘Fuck that,’ cursed Lindsey. ‘I want to phone my dad.’

  ‘Language,’ laughed Petrus.

  ‘Okay,’ said Garrett. ‘Why not? Petrus, you stay here. I’m going to try to keep you out of this. Not sure if I can, but I will try.’

  Garrett and Lindsey walked across the road and into the front of the police station. A small entrance area come charge office. Wooden bench against the one wall, a scratched and worn counter opposite. The walls painted a dull semi-gloss institutional green. Police information posters hung raggedly on the walls, tacked on with strips of yellowing sticky tape. ‘Underage drinking is illegal’, ‘Blow the whistle on domestic abuse’, ‘No means no’.

  There was no one at the counter. Garrett and Lindsey stood for a few seconds and then Garrett leaned over the counter and looked down the corridor behind it. That too was empty.

  ‘I really need to phone my dad,’ said Lindsey.

  ‘Come on,’ replied Garrett as he lifted the entrance flap on the counter and walked down the corridor. The rooms on either side of the passageway were all glass fronted and Garrett peered into the rooms as they walked past.

  Then he stopped abruptly, grabbed Lindsey by the arm and dragged her back down the corridor, moving so fast that he literally pulled her off her feet.

  ‘Hey,’ she yelped. ‘What gives? I need to phone my dad. Stop it.’

  ‘Quiet,’ hissed Garrett, his voice a command not to be ignored.

  They went back through the counter and exited the building, still moving at a walk that bordered on a run.

  Garrett bundled Lindsey into the back of the Land Rover, jumped into the front seat, started the engine and pulled off, heading out of town.

  Petrus waited until they were clear of the traffic before he spoke.

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Big trouble,’ affirmed Garrett.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That Jackson guy, the one that I cold cocked. He was in the station. Sitting in a room with abother military type and a cop. They were talking like they knew each other.’

  ‘Shit,’ exclaimed Petrus. ‘We should have taken him out.’

  ‘We can’t just go around killing everyone,’ disagreed Garrett.

  ‘Why not?’ Asked Petrus. ‘It’s always worked for us in the past.’

  ‘It’s different here,’ answered Garrett.

  ‘Maybe he was reporting the fact that you guys attacked him and his friends,’ suggested Lindsey.

  ‘Never,’ denied Garrett. ‘No ways that he and his mates would go into a police station to report that the girl that they kidnapped was taken by someone else and they’d like to lodge a complaint.’

  ‘True,’ admitted Lindsey. ‘Sorry. Stupid idea.’

  ‘Gifted my ass,’ said Petrus.

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘Language,’ said both Garrett and Petrus at the same time.

  They drove in silence for a few minutes and then Garrett took a right turn off the m
ain road. He turned again soon after that and pulled off the road and down an old track, stopping the Land Rover behind a copse of trees so that it was hidden from view.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘What the hell is going on?’

  Neither Petrus nor Lindsey spoke.

  ‘Come on,’ prompted Garrett. ‘Any thoughts would be welcomed.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Petrus. ‘Those guys that we came up against last night. You reckon that they’re ex Special Forces?’

  Garrett shook his head. ‘Judging by their ages I’d say that they are current special forces. Their bergens were latest issue and looked relatively new. And you can’t buy that stuff at the military surplus store.’

  ‘Cool,’ continued Petrus. ‘So we got the military and the cops in this thing, whatever this thing is, working together. Now, is it just the local cops or is it more widespread?’

  ‘When those dickheads took me there was cop with them,’ piped up Lindsey. ‘I was at home alone, he knocked on the door. That’s why I let them in.’

  ‘What cops?’ Asked Garrett. ‘London cops? Cops from up here?’

  Lindsey shook her head. ‘I don’t know. Cops are cops.’

  ‘Think,’ urged Garrett. ‘Anything that could help. It’s important.’

  Lindsey closed her eyes as she tried to remember everything about the incident.

  ‘When he knocked on the door I asked for him to show his badge at the peephole.’

  ‘Did he?’ Asked Garrett.

  She shook her head. ‘No. He said that they don’t carry badges but he could show me his warrant card. He held it up.’ Lindsey’s brow furrowed in concentration. ‘It had some Latin on it. Domine Dirige Nos.’

  ‘You remember that?’ Asked Petrus sceptically.

  ‘Yep,’ affirmed Lindsey. ‘Brain the size of a planet. Told you. It means...’

  ‘Lord Guide Us,’ interjected Garrett. ‘It’s the motto for the City of London police,’ murmured Garrett. ‘This is not good. What rank was he?’

  Lindsey shrugged.

  ‘On his shoulder, what badge did he have?’

  ‘A crown, I think,’ answered Lindsey. ‘No, wait…a wreath.’

  ‘Commander,’ said Garrett. ‘The equivalent of an army brigadier. Whatever this is, it’s not only local and it goes pretty high up. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.’

  ‘So what now?’ Questioned Petrus.

  ‘We take Lindsey home.’

  ‘Can’t we stop somewhere so that I can phone my dad?’ Asked Lindsey. ‘I want him to know that I’m okay.’

  Garrett shook his head. ‘Sorry, love. This thing is bigger than we all thought. I’d rather not phone ahead just in case. We’ll drive to your house, get some eyes on. Take it from there. It won’t be long, a few more hours.’

  Lindsey didn’t look happy but she trusted Garrett’s logic.

  Garrett started the Land Rover, slotted it into gear and drove off, heading for London.

  Chapter 7

  As always, the traffic in London was a solid crawling nightmare. The sun had gone down and the city was a sparkle of lights that reflected off the wet surfaces and fractured against the light rain like a scattering of multicolored jewels.

  With Lindsey giving directions, Garrett wended their way through the ancient streets of the modern city until they reached Islington, a burrow of London.

  As they approached the young girl’s house she started to become visibly excited at the prospect of seeing her father again.

  Garrett took the final turn into her road and Lindsey pointed at her house.

  ‘There,’ she said. ‘The Georgian house. Number thirty seven.’

  Garrett slowed down but continued driving on to the end of the road where he turned right and then pulled in some two hundred yards further on.

  ‘Hey,’ exclaimed Lindsey. ‘What was the point of that?’

  ‘There’s a black cab parked outside the house.’

  ‘So what?’ Asked Lindsey. ‘There are black cabs all over London. It’s famous for its black taxis.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. But the driver was smoking and he had a flask of tea or something. Cabbies don’t smoke in their cabs.’

  ‘Maybe this one does,’ argued Lindsey.

  ‘We need to find a phone,’ said Garrett. ‘This is your neighborhood, any idea where a pay phone is?’

  Lindsey shook her head. ‘Why would I know that? Who the hell uses pay phones? There probably aren’t any.’

  Garrett pulled back into the flow of traffic and drove around the area in a random pattern looking for a phone box. Eventually they found a bank of three. He parked, climbed out with Lindsey and went over to them.

  The first two were broken, the receivers pulled off and the units smashed. The third one was still intact and when Garrett picked up the receiver he heard a dialing tone.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘What’s your number?’

  ‘I’ll phone,’ said Lindsey.

  ‘No. I’ll phone. Give me your number.’

  Lindsey recited a number and Garrett loaded fifty pence into the coin slot and dialed.

  ‘What’s your dad’s name?’ He asked as the phone rang.

  ‘Bradley,’ she answered. ‘His friends call him Brad.’

  There was a click and someone picked up the phone. They didn’t say anything but Garrett could hear their breathing on the line.

  ‘Hello,’ greeted Garrett. ‘Is that Brad?’

  Still the man did not respond.

  ‘Brad,’ continued Garrett. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Who is this?’ Asked the man. His voice was gruff. The accent pure London cockney.

  ‘A friend of Brad’s,’ answered Garrett. ‘From the university. Can I speak to him?’

  ‘What’s your name?’

  Garrett placed the phone back in its cradle. ‘How does your dad talk?’ he asked Lindsey.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Your dad, what accent does he have?’

  ‘He’s posh,’ said Lindsey.

  ‘Well then your dad isn’t there. The dude who answered the phone spoke like a barrow boy from the market. Rough as old bags.’

  ‘So where is my dad?’

  ‘I don’t know, sweetheart,’ answered Garrett. ‘But I promise you, we will find out.’

  They both went back to the Land Rover and he told Petrus what had transpired.

  ‘Simple,’ said Petrus. ‘We sneak into the house, grab the dude inside and smash him up until he tells us what’s going on.’

  ‘We can’t do that,’ said Garrett. ‘What if he’s some sort of long lost relative or some innocent cop or something?’

  ‘Well, after we work him over we’ll know,’ argued Petrus.

  ‘Whatever we do,’ said Garrett. ‘We need to get Lindsey to a safe place.’

  ‘Where?’ Asked Petrus.

  ‘Maybe the laird’s place.’

  Petrus shook his head. ‘No ways. Too many dick heads there. The laird’s okay but that fucking Alicia is a mental case and who know what other morons the laird might have to stay.’

  ‘True,’ admitted Garrett reluctantly.

  ‘Hey,’ interjected Lindsey. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I want to stay with you guys. That’s the safest. Anyway, you two need me.’

  ‘Why?’ Asked Petrus.

  ‘Because I’m the brains of the operation.’

  ‘We’ll get by,’ argued Petrus.

  Lindsey shook her head. ‘Not so sure about that. I mean,’ she pointed at Garrett. ‘This one thinks that he’s Rambo and you…well you carry a spear, for fuck sakes.’

  ‘Don’t swear,’ snapped Petrus.

  ‘Sorry. But seriously, guys. Please don’t make me go.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Garrett. ‘We stick together. First we better find a place to stay. Down market place that encourages cash payments. Lots of foreigners. Two rooms or some sort of family room. I reckon Earl’s Court is a good place to start.’

  Garrett pulled off and headed west. After a few w
rong turns and an hour of crawling through traffic they cruised past the Earl’s Court Exhibition Center. He drove slowly through the surrounding streets until he saw a hotel that caught his eye.

  A row of faded Georgian houses that had been converted into a combination of single room apartments and one and two star hotels. Flaking paint, flickering backlit neon signs and ostentatious names.

  He chose the third hotel along that went by the name of ‘Grand Castle Hotel’. It sported a faded red and white flag outside with some sort of company logo, a neon sign that read, ‘family rooms available’ and a brass plaque boasting two stars. A hand written sign on the front door informed guests that there was Free WiFi.

  ‘This is the place,’ stated Garrett. ‘Petrus, you got money?’

  ‘Yep. About six hundred pounds.’

  ‘Good, book a family suite with two rooms, or two separate adjoining rooms. Pay cash, give false names. Look, the likelihood is that no one is actually looking for us. Maybe for Lindsey, but not us. Still, don’t take a chance. I’m driving back to my cottage in Scotland. I’m going to pick up a bunch of cash so we can go totally off grid.’

  Petrus and Lindsey got out of the Land Rover and Garrett pulled off.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Lindsey. ‘What a fucking dump.’

  ‘Sorry, princess,’ said Petrus. ‘Next time we’ll stay at The Ritz.’

  ‘Don’t call me princess,’ snapped Lindsey. ‘I hate that.’

  Petrus laughed and they went up the stairs and into the hotel.

  Chapter 8

  Theoretically it is fairly simple to build an atomic bomb, provided one has a sufficient quantity of weapons grade plutonium.

  And while plutonium is extremely difficult to obtain in any sort of adequate amount it is possible, with the right connections, to get hold of Plutonium Dioxide, the waste material; from a nuclear power plant. This can be converted into plutonium metal using a relatively simple chemical process.

  Then, you basically make a plutonium sphere about four inches in diameter. You surround this with a shell of dense material, such as lead. This is called a tamper.

  About 900 pounds of plastic explosive, molded around the tamper and placed around the sphere of plutonium, should be sufficient to compress the plutonium to the required degree.