by Adam Carter
Jeremiah felt anger rise within him, for he knew Sanders was not idly bluffing. His reach was extensive and he seemed to know everything in Jeremiah’s heart and mind. “You don’t trust Charles any more than you trust me,” he said through gritted teeth. “You despise what we are; if you didn’t need us you’d kill us both.”
Sanders took a step closer to him. His eyes bore into him threateningly. The eyes were the power of beings like Jeremiah and Baronaire, and looking into Sanders’s made even Jeremiah quail. “Maybe I finally realise I don’t need you both,” Sanders said softly. “Maybe I’ll tell Baronaire about himself and let him decide what he wants to do with you.”
“You have no right!” Jeremiah exploded.
“Right? Ha! I know what you’re doing here, Jeremiah. I know why you and Charles joined WetFish all those years ago, oh don’t look so surprised. I’m not stupid. Just answer me this one question, Jeremiah. If I told Baronaire everything, and I mean everything … who do you think he would hate more?”
Jeremiah was silent. Even his rage was diminishing now. For eleven years he had been insidiously worming his way closer to Sanders’s heart, and now it seemed the old man had known all about his little schemes since day one. Sanders was in control, just as he always was, and Jeremiah was only now beginning to see that.
“I could kill you,” Jeremiah whispered. “I’m stronger than you, more agile. I have the strength of twenty men. You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Sanders smirked. “Sure. Just do yourself a favour and practise your blocking skills.”
“Blocking …?”
Sanders moved faster than Jeremiah had ever seen anyone move, and that included beings with his own reflexes. His fist slammed into Jeremiah’s jaw, staggering him and sending him crashing into the biros. He stared up in pure shock as Sanders shook his head in disgust. “Now, go write me that report about Folkestone,” he said, turning to leave the room. “Oh, and if you happen to see Charles before I get the chance, tell him I need to talk to him.”
Jeremiah rose slowly, nursing his aching jaw. He remained in the room for some time, thinking. Considering all his options. Sanders was tougher than he had ever thought, and far cannier. He realised he might have to step up his plans somewhat, but if Sanders really was willing to reveal all to Baronaire it might be best for him simply to run and be done with it.
But then he forced himself to stop reacting and to actually think. It had been eleven years; why would Sanders suddenly tell Baronaire anything? Why now? No, Sanders had no intention of doing that. Baronaire had been right; Sanders had sent them to Folkestone in order to get them out of the way, and now they were back Sanders was attempting to confuse him, to make Jeremiah run around chasing shadows, diverting attention from what Sanders was really up to.
It was classic Sanders. The man had a plan and he was adapting to every eventuality.
What that plan was Jeremiah could not say. Perhaps he really was intending to be rid of the two of them, perhaps he had found someone even more powerful to replace them. What Jeremiah knew for a fact was that Baronaire’s success rate on assignments was by far in excess of any other officer in the entire organisation. Sanders simply could not afford to lose him, not if he didn’t want to sacrifice his vision of the perfect future.
Whatever Sanders was up to, Jeremiah had to find out before it was too late to stop him.
He left the storage room to find Stockwell waiting nervously outside. “What?” Jeremiah snapped.
“Uh, you OK?”
“I thought you wanted your desk back?”
“I did. Do. Uh, I just need a new pencil?”
Shaking his head, Jeremiah stormed past him and towards the exit. He needed some air to think. It had been a bad day.
CHAPTER FOUR
It was a textbook assignment, completed without any hitch at all. Sergeant Flynn had proven the perfect observer as well; astute, raising questions whenever he felt it necessary and more than able to nod his head at all the right moments. Lin and Flynn finished the assignment quickly, mainly because she wanted to get back to the bunker to find out just what the hell was going on, although Flynn suggested they go for coffee.
“Still on duty,” Lin said as she searched for her car keys. They had parked just off the high street, somewhere entirely inconspicuous, and approaching early evening as it was there were now several spaces. They were just one more couple heading home after a hard day of shopping. That they did not even possess any bags was not something Lin was concerned about. They were instantly forgettable people; that was all she cared for.
“You don’t drink coffee on duty?” Flynn asked with raised eyebrows.
Lin at last found her keys, held the correct one before her as though it was an accusatory finger. “Look, cards on the table here. You’re a nice guy, Daryl. You’re good at your job and you know just how to get on my good side. And that’s rubbing me up the wrong way.”
“How can getting on your good side rub you up the wrong way?”
“Because it’s not sincere. Sanders put you up to this, right? You’re not a new recruit from SO14, you’re a spy. Tell me I’m wrong.”
“I did come through SO14 before joining WetFish, Sue.”
“Sanders wants me out of the way for the same reason he wants Baronaire and Jeremiah out of the way.”
Flynn almost laughed at that. “No, no I don’t think so.”
“And what’s funny?”
Flynn looked away, and when his eyes focused once more upon her there was a depth to them she had not seen before. Gone was the newbie look. This was a man who knew more of the inner workings of WetFish than Lin could ever dream. “I’m not going to talk down to you, Detective,” he said. “Yes, you’re right. Sanders wanted me to keep you away from the bunker for a while. But you automatically assume he has your worst interests at heart.”
“So he’s having you babysit me for my own good?”
“Bodyguard.”
Suddenly Lin felt very uncomfortable. “What’s happened back at the bunker?”
Flynn sighed. “Something not altogether nice. It doesn’t matter, you’re not going to find out anyway. But trust the DCI sometimes, Lin. He’s a good man, deep down. He cares for his officers; you have to admit that much about him.”
“Does he care for Baronaire and Jeremiah as well?” she asked glibly.
“As much as he cares for his paperweight or his doorstop.”
“They’re more than tools, Sergeant. They’re human beings, and Sanders can’t play with their lives like he does.”
There was a strange look to Flynn’s eyes as he said, “I’m not so sure you’re right there, Lin. But it’s not my place to say.”
Lin opened the car door and climbed inside, Flynn taking the passenger seat. Neither spoke as they pulled away. They drove for five minutes before they left the shopping area clear behind, entering more of a residential area. That was when Lin suddenly jumped as an arm reached out from the back seat and encircled Flynn’s throat.
“Jesus!”
“Eyes on the road,” Baronaire warned her. “Just drive. Find a nice secluded spot so the three of us can have a little talk.”
Lin’s heart was pounding, and following his initial surprise Flynn did not seem to be reacting at all. He knew there was nothing he could do to alter the situation, although Lin was now less worried about crashing and more about what Baronaire was going to do to Flynn once they stopped. If Baronaire had been hiding back there the entire time, this had to be serious. “Baronaire,” she began, “we really should talk about …”
“Just drive,” he replied dryly. “And trust me.”
Lin wasn’t all that certain she could do that right at that moment.
But she drove anyway.
An open park area came into sight after about fifteen minutes and Lin knew there was a woodland adjoining it. Baronaire instructed her to pull up there, and Lin parked. The road was not well used and the closest house was several minutes away b
y foot. She had visions of Baronaire dragging Flynn into the woodland and beating information from him, but she would under no circumstances allow that to happen. As soon as she turned off the engine, however, the passenger door was tugged open and Baronaire was pulling Flynn from the car. How Baronaire had managed to move so quickly she had no idea, but she was struggling with her seatbelt so she could set off after them.
“Baronaire!” she cried as she slammed the door. Flynn was offering no resistance and Baronaire was indeed heading for the trees. “Wait!”
“I need to know what Sanders is up to,” he told her. “Stay in the car.”
“Like hell I’m staying in the car.”
Baronaire yelled then and Lin stopped. Flynn had done something, thrown something in Baronaire’s face. At first she thought he had dragged some soil and flung it in his eyes, but Baronaire was clawing at his face and she could see his skin peeling.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, rushing back to her car to fetch a bottle of water. Baronaire was on the floor, writhing in agony, and with great difficulty Lin managed to steady him long enough to flood his face with water. Baronaire began to calm, although his skin was a mass of sore redness. Lin looked up to where Flynn was casually dusting himself off. “What did you do to him?”
“Don’t keep a mongrel you can’t put down,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. “You drag me out here for a kicking and still wonder why Sanders doesn’t trust you?”
Baronaire rose to his feet. Lin supported him, and while he did not like it he didn’t have much of a choice if he wanted to stand up. She thought Baronaire would demand to know who he really was, or what he had just thrown into his face, and was startled when Baronaire instead said, “You know what I am, Sergeant Flynn.”
“I’m in charge of WetFish security, of course I know what you are.”
Lin blinked. “WetFish has a chief of security?”
“Like everything at the bunker,” Baronaire said tritely, “it’s likely classified.”
Flynn offered him a wry smile. “It’s true, isn’t it? Sanders told me you didn’t know anything about yourself, but I didn’t know whether to believe him.”
“What am I?”
“A valuable asset,” Flynn replied. “Until I get told otherwise, that’s all I can tell you.”
“Why are we being kept away from the bunker?” Lin asked.
“There was an incident. A security breach. Sanders was afraid Jeremiah and Baronaire would use it to their advantage. He’s never been quite sure which side they were on.”
“And me?” Lin asked.
“Like I said, I’m your bodyguard. Sanders has taken a shine to you, Detective. He didn’t want you anywhere near the problem.”
“Then if you’re head of security,” Lin asked, “what are you doing out here? Shouldn’t you be back at the bunker dealing with the problem?”
“Problem’s death with. Contained. Sanders is just running some checks to see why it happened and whether it’s likely to repeat. I’m curious though; if you’re here, Baronaire, where’s Jeremiah?”
“Back at the bunker probably.”
Flynn’s face fell. Both men understood that out of the two of them, it was Jeremiah, not Baronaire, who was most likely to take advantage of a bad situation. And if Jeremiah was causing trouble, there was every chance he would come to blows with Sanders.
“We have to get back there,” Baronaire said.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Flynn determined.
“Nice sentiment, but ask yourself what’s worse, Sergeant; me being at the bunker, or Jeremiah staying there unsupervised.”
Flynn was torn, but ultimately there was no decision to be made. “You do as I tell you,” he said to Baronaire.
“Just get in the car.”
Lin had no idea what was going on. She just knew she had to drive as quickly as humanly possible.
*
The DCI had disappeared and Jeremiah didn’t like it. Sanders had stated his position, made certain Jeremiah knew his, and had then simply vanished. No one had seen him leave, and he certainly wasn’t in his office. Clearly wherever he had gone, he reasoned Jeremiah either wouldn’t be able to find him or wouldn’t be foolish enough to try. Instead Jeremiah saw this as his opportunity to finally put his plans into effect. He had no idea what Sanders was up to, or why he had sent him away to the seaside, but there were ways to find out anything.
When Jeremiah had first joined WetFish he had explored the bunker in its entirety. As a white mist he had drifted through air vents, examined the sprinklers, everything. There was no part of the bunker he did not know and therefore no part he did not now thoroughly inspect, although after a long and fruitless search he still could find no trace of the DCI. There was a chance Sanders had simply gone home, but Jeremiah did not believe it for a moment. WetFish was everything to Sanders, his bunker was his castle. He would no more abandon it than Jeremiah would abandon his own life’s quest.
Sanders had to be around somewhere, but where?
As he stood there thinking he realised Stockwell was staring at him again. He glowered at the skinny annoyance and Stockwell turned back to his computer.
Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed and he pulled up a chair alongside the young man. “Stockwell … Barry. I need to talk to Sanders but can’t seem to find him anywhere.”
“You tried the stationery cupboard?”
Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed and his voice veritably dripped with ire. “You seem to be taking a keen interest in everything I’m doing lately. I’m wondering whether you know where he might be.”
Stockwell swallowed nervously, pushed his glasses up slightly. “I haven’t been spying on you.”
Now Jeremiah was interested. He had never indicated that Stockwell had actually been spying on him. That told him Sanders was getting desperate, if he was getting fools like Stockwell to do his dirty work. “Where is he?”
“How should I know?”
“Barry, it’s very important.”
Stockwell seemed torn between his duty to his DCI and his helpfulness to a colleague. Eventually he turned back to his computer. “Let’s see if I can find him for you.”
Jeremiah blinked. “On your computer?”
“Computers can do wonderful things now, Jeremiah. They don’t just add things up and let you play Dizzy Panic any more.”
Jeremiah was about as interested in asking what Dizzy Panic might have been as he was interested in cricket. “So you can track people with a computer?” he asked sceptically. He knew they had a database, which was what he mainly used it for himself. If Stockwell could perform wonders with the machine, however, there was every chance Jeremiah could use the young man to his own ends. Jeremiah himself did not understand technology too much, never had. Back when he was a young man about the most advanced thing was a winch, which came in handy when he had been put down a well one time for non-stop talking of doom and gloom.
Watching the figures scroll by on the screen, Jeremiah could not understand how Stockwell was even reading it, much less translating it. All it told Jeremiah was just why Stockwell had to wear glasses.
“That’s odd.”
Jeremiah realised Stockwell was not intending to continue, so prodded him with a, “What is?”
“This is the manifest of incoming materials to the bunker.”
“You mean like stationery?”
“Jeremiah, you have a thing for the stationery order today.” He lost his smile when he saw that Jeremiah really wasn’t in the mood. “Anyway,” he coughed to cover his nervousness, “there’s a lot of stuff coming in which we pay for. We don’t necessarily have it delivered, but it all comes out of the budget.”
“You mean like petrol?”
“Precisely.”
“And what’s interesting about that?”
“There was a delivery of drywall last year and we haven’t had any extensions built, so I wonder what it was for.”
“Drywall? What’s drywall?”
“Plasterboard. They use it to soundproof rooms.”
Suddenly Jeremiah decided Stockwell was not so useless after all. A small smile crept onto his lips. “You’re telling me Sanders built another room into the bunker last year?”
“Maybe,” he said, turning back to his computer. “Maybe it was already there, and the DCI just got around to soundproofing it.”
“It would have to be airtight,” Jeremiah muttered. Otherwise he would have found it during his reconnaissance.
“Sorry?”
“Nothing. Nothing.” He leaned closer to the screen as though he would somehow be able to make the confusing numbers mean something to him. After a few moments he became aware Stockwell had stopped typing and was staring at him with an annoyed expression. Jeremiah realised he had invaded the nerd’s personal space and backed off a pace. It was refreshing to see Stockwell actually angry about something, although it was a shame it had to be something as stupid as looking at his computer screen too closely.
“The delivery was accepted in the north-east area of the car park,” Stockwell told him dryly. “If that helps.”
“It may. Thanks for your help.” It always suited Jeremiah to thank people, since he may one day need them again. Where the delivery was taken probably would not help much, although if Sanders was soundproofing the secret room himself, so that he was the only one to know about it, it stood to reason he would have had the drywall delivered as close to the room as possible. The delivery people would never see the room, hidden as it was, so Sanders would have no worries about them seeing something they should not.
Jeremiah went immediately to the area in question. The car park was empty of people, and as he made his way slowly through the stationary vehicles he could not help but feel Sanders’s eyes staring out at him from the shadows. Reaching the far wall Jeremiah placed his ear to the stone and listened, although could hear nothing. As with the room in the storage cupboard, he rapped his knuckles against the wall, and received no response.
He spent an hour within the car park, patiently repeating the gesture, listening for even a slight variation of the dull resistance he was receiving. He was trying hard not to become agitated, but Jeremiah was not known as an especially patient man at the best of times.