by Paul Watson
Jamie checked the first door and peered through the window; there was no-one home. He walked over to the second door. There was the shape of a large man under sheets with his hair poking out the top.
Rob?
The first key in the bunch didn’t work; there were ten keys of a similar size. Jamie tried the second key and then the third; the fourth key unlocked the door. Jamie entered the room and jammed it open with the heel of his foot.
The man in the bed sat. He had a bruised eye, and a cut lip.
‘I’m not sure what we’re doing here, but I suggest you follow me,’ Jamie said.
‘I don’t have a better plan.’ Steve got up from the bed.
‘Tell me what you know?’
‘Not much. I was drinking in a bar last night when a van pulled up; men in masks got out pointing guns. One of them smashed me in the face and bundled me into the back of the van.’
‘You don’t remember me, do you? I took the call about the street robber that tried to steal your bag. You had a busy evening.’
‘Ah, I thought your face seemed familiar.’
‘Do you remember anything else?’
‘No, they injected me with something in the van, and that’s the last I can remember before a crashing sound woke me.’
‘Let’s get out of here.’ They crept along the corridor and arrived at a fire door with a push bar.
‘Do you think it’s alarmed?’
Jamie pushed the door, and it opened; no alarm sounded. They were in a courtyard surrounded by double storey brick buildings. It reminded Jamie of the university campuses he’d visited, but more like a disused army barracks or a police training college. ‘There’s a perimeter fence over there; we’ll leave and get help; I bet you’ve not got a phone on you?’
‘I’d settle for shoes right now.’
The two men stalked through the courtyard and then along a path, next to a brick wall with no windows. Straight ahead of them was a field, and about two hundred metres further on stood the perimeter fence; it was six feet high and painted green; the top of the rails had spikes.
At the end of the wall, the path turned left. Jamie peeped around the corner; a man smoked, or vaped, under a canopy that provided shelter for this specific purpose. Behind the canopy was an extensive reception area.
‘No chance of getting across the field without being seen,’ said Jamie.
‘Shall we try the other direction?’
They walked back down the path. The bear stood in front of them pointing a handgun. Next to him were three other massive men also pointing guns. They were thirty metres away.
‘Let’s take our chances with the smoking man.’ Jamie sprinted along the path towards the guy. He ran past a blue door on his left. Steve ran after him. The smoking man heard them coming and gazed up. Jamie was ten metres away. The guy pulled out a pistol from his pocket, but too late; not enough distance between him and the target. Jamie’s run-up was perfect; about three metres out, he jumped off his right leg and rotated his waist clockwise. He raised his left knee high, pointed his toes down, and kicked his heel into the man’s sternum. The guy crashed backwards, and his head bounced off the glass door.
A ping rang out as a bullet bounced off one of the canopy’s circular steel columns. Jamie pushed Steve over a brick planter that contained lavender. They both ducked; Jamie took the gun out of his pocket. He flicked the smoking guy’s pistol, that lay on the ground, over to Steve.
‘When they get in the courtyard, aim to the centre of their chests and fire three shots at each of them, you start from the right; I’ll start from the left.’
There was a sound of crashing boots entering the courtyard. Jamie and Steve, hidden by the lavender bushes, aimed at the men. The sound was deafening as Jamie and Steve fired. After they’d emptied both pistols, their ears rang and buzzed.
The bear and his companions stood in the courtyard and laughed.
TEN
Roberts got off the train after enjoying the trip; train travel removed decisions from the journey, and real life was full of choices. He’d been travelling North for two hours, first-class, sitting with his back to the driver’s cabin so he could see everyone getting off and on at the few stops along the route. Roberts had slept for half an hour between two stops; Sleep when you can.
The sky was dark, and the air simmered; Roberts stood on the platform, and a woman walked towards him. She was around thirty-five years old, five feet eight tall, with blond hair and glasses. Roberts pictured her face without the glasses and liked both versions.
‘Roberts?’
‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Laws is waiting for us at the factory.’
They strolled from the platform and past a ticket office. In the station car park, a blue BMW 3 series sat in the closest bay; the woman clicked her key, and the lights flashed. Roberts got into the passenger seat.
‘I’m Julia.’ The woman pressed the start button and pulled away from the car park onto the road; either side were fields and trees, the land was flat to the horizon.
‘Been working here long? You’re not what I expected.’
‘I wear glasses, which fits the stereotype?’
‘So you’re the brains. Do you think it will be worth it?’
‘Do you?’
‘You don’t need your PhD to know my motivation, but I’m guessing you’re not in it for the money?’
‘Your questions are personal. Money’s important but you’re right, it’s not why I’m doing this.’ As they drove on, the roads got faster but were single-track with a sixty limit. ‘I’m scared to talk to you, if I’m honest, I’ve read your cv.’
‘You needn’t fear me. I don’t kill pretty doctors.’
‘But you’re a soldier and follow orders. don’t you?’
‘I break the rules and sometimes twist them to suit my objectives; money’s not everything. You’re worried that our employer wants to kill you?’
‘Not now; I’m too important, but I’m documenting everything for a handover and I won’t always be indispensable.’
‘Boyfriend?’
‘You’re very direct.’
‘I like clarity and don’t stay in places long enough to be vague. I can’t imagine a boyfriend condoning your current lifestyle.’
‘My boyfriend’s dead.’ The BMW turned left on to a new, smoother road. Fields stretched right and left as they drove up to a gate; either side was a twelve-foot-high fence with barbed wire at the top. The gate opened inwards as the BMW approached. ‘It’s surprising our employer wants to meet you; he’s not a fan of face to face.’
‘Do you like face to face?’ Roberts said.
‘I appreciated your directness; now you’re getting crude, and you’re in danger of blowing it.’
‘You’re giving me great material to work with here. I’ll show my self-control and resist another pun.’
‘Self-control. You’re getting more interesting, Roberts.’ The car drove into a parking area and stopped in a bay in front of a building that resembled a warehouse. The walls were around fifteen metres high and made from painted corrugated steel; taller than a barn and of more expensive construction. Roberts gazed left and right; the building faded in the darkness. The pair climbed out of the car and walked over to a roller shutter door; Julia typed a code into a panel which beeped, and the door rolled upwards.
‘Follow me.’ Julia entered the building. ‘Stay on the yellow walkways.’ Roberts saw cages containing black metal boxes: the boxes had blue lights flashing. He followed Julia along the yellow walkway: over painted lines on a concrete floor.
As they approached a crossroads, Roberts saw racking stretching out for a hundred metres across and around three hundred metres along the building. The racks were to the roof. They came to a door. ‘I’ve taken you the scenic route.’
‘Thank you. Good to stretch my legs after the train journey; just what the doctor ordered. Are you sure our employer would want me to see this?’
&n
bsp; ‘I feel safer now you’ve seen it too.’ They went through the door and arrived in reception. ‘Let’s go to the meeting room upstairs,’ Julia said. ‘Laws said it would be midnight before he’d arrive, and we can get a bite to eat while we’re waiting.’ Julia swiped a plastic pass over a panel at the entry barrier which opened, and she approached an elevator; this time the doors opened without her pressing a button.
Julia and Roberts entered; doors shut, and they arrived at the second-floor corridor. Offices on either side of the passage had name plaques; Roberts read them as he passed.
One plaque had black letters on a white backing with the words: ‘Dr J. Matthews.’ Another door had the words: ‘The Creator’, engraved on gold coloured metal.
‘Hope you’re Dr Matthews and not The Creator?’
‘Laws is self-important; he wishes I’d call him The Creator.’ At the end of the passage, they entered a room containing a meeting table with twelve chairs; a screen hung from the wall at one end. The office was at the corner and glazed, but Roberts thought the view would bore, even in daylight. He sat in a chair at the top of the table facing the screen, a habit he’d picked up in briefings: less strain on the neck.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ Julia said.
‘Decaf, this time of the day please, I’m hoping to sleep tonight.’
‘Don’t give up yet Roberts.’ Julia left the room.
The woman appeared interested in him, and Roberts found it unnerving; he’d expected to have to work harder.
Julia returned a few minutes later with two coffees. ‘I’ve just had a call from Laws who can’t make it.’
‘Can we get out of this place and get something to eat?’
‘There are few late-night eateries around here. We’ve got microwave packs in the kitchen; come and help me cook.’ They moved to the galley. Julia opened the cupboard above the sink. Inside the closet, microwave meal boxes stood in neat stacks.
‘So, Roberts, we’ve got chilli, eggs and bacon and, my personal favourite, chicken curry.’
Roberts noticed how awake Julia looked; he felt ready to drop. Roberts took two boxes of chicken curry, put them in the steel microwave and turned the dial; the machine hummed. ‘I’m a vegetarian,’ said Roberts, ‘But I doubt the manufacturers of this meal box harmed any chickens.’
Julia handed Roberts two plastic knives and forks and said, ‘Set the table please, I’ll grab a bottle of wine from my office.’
‘Do you often drink wine at work?’ No reply from Julia as she left the room.
Roberts found napkins and two plastic cups. He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and trudged back to set places at the corner; it was too formal to eat facing across the table. Roberts folded the paper napkins into crowns, and placed them between the knives and forks, putting one paper cup at the tip of the knife for water, and one to its right for wine; the microwave dinged.
A familiar aroma welcomed Roberts as he returned to the kitchen; it reminded him of army ration packs from his distant past, and the police cells from earlier that evening. The dried, long life food smelled the same whichever variety you chose. Roberts suspected the contents of each box was the same; like the trick you could play on children by putting orange food colouring in apple juice and asking them to guess the flavour.
Roberts spooned the nutritious concoction onto paper plates, carried them into the meeting room and sat back at the table, to give Julia the window view.
Julia returned carrying the wine. Her hair was wet, and the glasses had gone. ‘I had a quick shower.’
Roberts poured the water, so Julia had to choose the correct cups when she served the wine. They both ate the food and sipped, glimpsing at each other and then glancing away.
‘Laws should be here first thing tomorrow. You can sleep on the sofa in my office; there’s an en-suite in there with towels.’
‘What about you?’
‘I’m renting a room in the village, and I’ll head back soon.’
‘You’re too successful to rent a room, aren’t you?’
‘I had a lovely place in the city when I worked at the hospital, but I was never home. I’ll finish here soon, and then I can move.’
‘What type of Doctor are you?’
‘A psychiatrist.’
‘Hope you’ll not mess with my mind.’
‘Unlikely I’ll influence your frontal lobe, but I seem to be affecting your limbic system. I’ve got to go now; I unlocked my office, make yourself at home.’ They took the plates to the kitchen and threw them in the bin. ‘I’ll be in around eight o’clock in the morning.’
‘See you tomorrow.’
‘Good night.’ Julia headed towards the elevators.
Roberts opened an internet browser on his phone and searched a phrase: ‘limbic system.’
ELEVEN
Andy sat at his kitchen table, in front of him was a bottle of purple liquid and a small yellow duck’s head.
‘Do you want eggs?’ Jess said.
‘Yes please; I’ll make them. Scrambled, or poached as its Saturday?’
‘Poached,’ said Sam, as he walked into the kitchen.
‘Please?’ Jess gave Sam a hard stare.
‘How was your night with Steve?’ Sam said.
‘Not good, little man. Steve’s missing, men in a transit van took him.’
‘What would they want with Steve? Maybe they’ve taken him to their secret base?’
Andy rose from the kitchen table and removed a large frying pan from the drawer. He poured water from the tap, placed it on the big ring, in the hob’s centre, and turned it on high.
‘What are you going to do?’ Jess said.
‘I’ve got my phone turned on and I’ve called the police a few times; let’s have breakfast and wait.’ He poured white wine vinegar into the pan.
‘What’s the bottle of the purple stuff on the table?’ said Sam. ‘Can I drink it?’
‘No, you can’t,’ said Jess. ‘Andy we’d better put that somewhere safe, how about in the garage?’
‘Will do, I’ll just finish these eggs first.’ A few bubbles had appeared on the base of the pan and were rising towards the surface. ‘OK little man, look at this.’ Sam walked over to his dad. ‘When the water looks like this, it’s the perfect time to put in the egg.’
‘Can I crack it?’
‘Yes, crack it into this cup first; it makes it easier to slide it in the water without splattering it everywhere.’ Sam smashed the egg on the side of the cup; the blow dented the egg, but it didn’t break. ‘Almost, little man.’ Sam hit it again, harder this time. The eggshell smashed, and the yolk, white and shell fell into the cup.
‘Andy, can’t you do it?’ said Jess.
‘Give a man a fish, and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish, and you feed him for a lifetime.’
‘I’m not stupid Daddy,’ Sam poured the egg into the simmering pan. His thumb brushed the water as he was lifting the cup out. ‘Ow,’ he said and dropped the cup.
‘You’re stupid, Andy. Why do you take such risks with him? Come here Sam and put that under the tap.’
‘Life’s risky Jess; I’d rather he learned things with us then throw him out there in a few years clueless.’
‘Just cook the eggs and concentrate on breakfast first please.’ Jess held Sam’s thumb under the running water coming from the cold tap. ‘Do eggs for Max too would you, he’ll be down in a minute.’
Andy cracked seven more eggs and got them into the pan. He then put six slices of toast on the grill, and two more in the toaster. He grabbed four plates out of the cupboard and placed them on the work surface. Andy used a fish slice to lift the eggs two at a time onto the kitchen paper to drain them and raised them onto the toast. ‘Voila,’ he said, as he set down the plates on the table. He moved the purple bottle over to the work surface.
Jess opened the kitchen door. ‘Max, breakfast.’ There was a thundering noise from above, and a large shape filled the door frame and sat at the tabl
e opposite Andy.
‘Morning Popster, good night with Steve?’ said Max.
‘It wasn’t great, Steve got kidnapped by men in a van.’ Andy ground pepper on his eggs.
‘Have you called the police?’
‘I’m waiting for them to call me.’ Jess and Sam walked over from the sink and sat down in the two other seats.
‘So what happened?’
‘I walked into the bar, came back out, and the women with Steve said men had bundled Steve into a van.’
‘You didn’t mention women,’ Jess said.
‘Didn’t think it was relevant.’
Max ate a large chunk of the egg. ‘Yow! Hot! Where’s the water?’ He stood and walked to the sink.
‘Fill the jug would you Max please,’ Jess said. ‘Who were these women?’
‘I don’t know. Steve talked to them while the police took my statement.’
‘Robbery?’ said Sam.
‘A man on a bike tried to steal Steve’s bag, and we called the police. I held onto the man until the police came.’
‘Did you get him in a headlock like this?’ Sam got out of his chair and put his arm around Andy’s neck.
‘Stop it Sam,’ Jess said.
Max came back to the table with a jug of water and put it down in the middle.
‘Any glasses?’ Andy said.
‘Sam can get them,’ said Max. ‘Where did you buy that juice from?’
‘What juice?’ Andy gazed at the work surface where he’d left the bottle with the purple liquid. He noticed that about a third of it had gone. ‘Did you drink that purple stuff?’
‘Yeh, it’s sweet, like an energy drink but flat. It gives you a buzz.’
‘How much did you drink?’
‘I poured it in to a pint glass and topped it up with water. I was expecting blackcurrant, but this has a serious kick.’ Max circled the room.
‘Andy, I think we need to get him checked out; you’re so stupid, I told you to move that bottle.’
‘Let’s go, big man, I’ll take you down to Accident and Emergency, just in case.’