Hunting the Wrecking Crew: An Eric Stone Novel

by Nick Albert

  “Becka!” The Fixer greeted her happily with a wave of his arm. “What can I do for you?”

  She thought carefully for a moment before deciding on the best way to deliver her bad news.

  “As a matter of course I have a number of alarms in place around the internet. Call them triggers if you will. Little programs that watch for activity that would suggest someone is searching for us. Occasionally I’ll get the odd nibble. Usually it’s just coincidence — a lucky combination of words in an email, or someone searching for demolition experts. However, this morning when I checked my ‘fishing net’, I discovered a shitload of very specific searches.” Becka waved the sheet of paper in evidence.

  The Fixer sat up in his seat, immediately attentive.

  “Are you telling me that someone out there is searching for us?” he asked.

  “Absolutely! There’s no doubt about it,” she said firmly. “Some names related to the Charles Rathbone case were being searched.”

  “Who’s doing it?”

  “I don’t know,” Becka admitted quietly. She braced herself for the inevitable explosion of anger, but The Fixer gave a surprising response.

  “Really? But you’re the best there is, Becka. Why don’t you know who’s searching for us?”

  Becka shrugged.

  “It’s hard to explain the detail in words that you, or anyone else without a degree in computer science, would understand.”

  The Fixer nailed Becka with an ice-cold stare and spoke a single acidic word.

  “Try.”

  Becka desperately searched her mind for a suitable analogy. She held up a finger to indicate that she had an idea.

  “It’s like there’s a ghost. Imagine looking at a security video. You can see things moving, you can see footsteps on the carpet, someone opening doors, but there’s no image. I can see that someone’s been looking for us, but I can’t see who it is,” she said, holding her hands up in defence.

  “I think I understand,” The Fixer said nodding gravely. “Someone is covering their tracks rather well.”

  “Yes!” Becka nodded enthusiastically. “Someone good, someone very good — but I’m better, and given enough time I’ll find them. I promise.”

  “Ok, well done.” He gave her a soulless smile and waved her away. “Keep me informed.”

  Becka nodded and placed the printout on the desk. She left without saying another word, unwilling to prolong the meeting any further than was strictly necessary.

  In the corridor, Bunny was waiting for her. He was leaning casually against the wall, leaving a deliberately small gap for Becka to pass through to get back to her office. She almost made it through, but at the last moment, his right arm shot out, blocking her escape. Then he brought his left hand onto her bottom, and began squeezing and needing, without tenderness or sexual interest. Becka tried to push his hand away, but he was too strong. A moment later his right hand grabbed her breast, as she knew it would.

  “Get off me!” She hissed.

  Bunny said nothing, but his uncaring smile revealed his gold tooth as his hand slithered mercilessly down her body until it forced its way between her thighs. He cupped Becka’s bottom with one hand and her crotch with the other, grinding painfully and lifting up until she was forced to stand on tiptoes. She grabbed his wrist to try to relieve the pain, an action Bunny immediately misinterpreted as one of pleasure.

  “You like that?” he leered.

  “Oh yeah, Bunny — you’re the man of my dreams,” She teased mockingly. “Do me baby — go on, do me!”

  Bunny dropped his hands.

  “Get on with your work — bitch.”

  She stepped away quickly, sick to the stomach with humiliation and frustrated by her inability to stop his sick bullying. When she returned to her desk, Becka closed her eyes and thought about how to vent her anger by finding whoever was stalking the Wrecking Crew. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, her eyes snapped open. With a smile, she began to tap computer code into her keyboard.

  The Fixer stared at the sheet of paper that Becka had left on his desk. The list of numbers and dates was gibberish to him, but he understood the implication. Someone was after him, and that made him very unhappy. He was The Fixer. He knew people in high places. He was untouchable. He ran the Wrecking Crew. He went after people — people didn’t come after him. Anger boiled into his throat, anger, and fear. Not for himself, and the money, but for the possible loss of power.

  When he started out, his motivation was naturally all about money, and he had made a lot of money over the years. However, in the time since he had formed the Wrecking Crew he had discovered that the use and abuse of power was a far more addictive drug, than the pursuit of wealth. In those quiet moments of solitude at the end of a day, The Fixer silently admitted that he got an almost sexual pleasure from wielding such a powerful sword. He was a champion facilitator — he made things happen. Losing that supremacy was something that he feared perhaps more than death itself. He had always expected that one day the party would end; it was something for which he had carefully planned. There was a private jet on standby, and he had sufficient resources to ensure a long and happy retirement. Nonetheless, if he was being honest with himself, the prospect of living a life without such unlimited power was something that chilled him to the bone.

  On top of the creeping fear of some unknown hackers exposing the Wrecking Crew, he was starting to suspect that he had lost one of his best resources — The Chameleon. He had called Chameleon in the usual way, providing good information about the two new targets, and triggering the killer with his code word. By yesterday, The Fixer had expected to hear that both contracts had been completed successfully. Because the confirmation was overdue, and at least one target was definitely still alive, he had tried to contact Chameleon several times, but his calls all went unanswered.

  In itself, this lack of communication was not suspicious. To complete a particularly difficult assignment, sometimes his assassin needed to remain out of contact for several weeks. Both of the current targets were simple, uncomplicated hits — something that Bunny and Kitten could probably have done. Yet Chameleon had failed to deliver. Something was very wrong, and now Chameleon was missing. The Fixer did not believe in co-incidence. A missing assassin combined with the report that Becka had just delivered, made The Fixer wonder if the party would be over sooner than he had expected. Something had to be done. He needed information quickly, and he needed eyes on the target. What he needed was surveillance. He strode across the room, threw open the door and shouted loudly for Peter White.

  NINE

  Stone and Carter stood side-by-side staring in disbelief at the contents of the Mercedes boot space. A young woman lay curled up on a tartan blanket. She was a petite red head, wearing a ridiculously tight white party dress, platform shoes and, quite obviously, very little else. There was a black gag tightly knotted across her mouth, and her hands and feet were secured together with cable ties that were almost obscured by red ribbon gift-wrapping bows. She was panting hard and staring at the two men with wide terrified eyes.

  “Christ on a bicycle!” Stone hissed.

  He reached forward but stopped instantly as the girl flinched and tried to shuffle backwards into the furthest reaches of the boot. Carter put a hand on Stone’s arm to still any further advances.

  “I’ve got this,” he said firmly, as his police training kicked in. He leaned forward and spoke softly to the girl.

  “You have nothing to fear from us. Those men cannot hurt you anymore. Do you understand…do you speak English?”

  The girl stared at him without moving as she considered the situation. Then she gave a short cautious nod. Carter squatted slightly to bring his eyes closer to her level. He smiled warmly and continued in a gentle voice.

  “We’re here to rescue you — you’re safe now. I’m going to reach over and remove that gag. It’s very important for your safety that you do not scream or make a lot of noise. Do you understand?” />
  The girl relaxed a little before giving another nod. Carter slowly reached forward and with a little difficulty, he untied the gag.

  “There, that’s a little better. What’s your name?”

  “Jenny,” she croaked in a voice as dry as dust.

  “Hello, Jenny.” Carter gave her a gentle smile, and then he turned towards Stone. “Get her some water, please. I saw a bottle in the car.”

  When Stone returned he handed the bottle to Carter and respectfully stood back. Carter showed the bottle to Jenny and then carefully held it to her lips. The girl gulped the water greedily, coughing and spluttering. After she had sated her thirst, she whispered a quiet ‘Thank you’.

  “I’m going to untie you now Jenny, but I need to use my knife, to cut through these plastic cuffs. You have no need to feel afraid; I’m not going to harm you. Can I untie you now? Is that ok?” Carter asked gently.

  Jenny nodded and shuffled forward to give Carter better access to her bindings. To ensure that she remained calm, he kept up a running commentary throughout the process, explaining what he was doing and even showing the girl the knife before cutting the cuffs. Stone knew that Carter had worked vice for many of his years in the police force. He realised that he was watching a man experienced in rescuing the kidnapped and abused. Soon Jenny was free, and after she had rubbed some life back into her limbs, Carter carefully helped her to climb out of the boot. As she tottered uncertainly on her ridiculously impractical high-heeled shoes, Carter kept a guiding hand on her arm until she regained her balance.

  Considering the likely trauma of her recent ordeal, Stone thought that Jenny was showing remarkable resilience. She looked around for a moment, assessing the surroundings and her two rescuers. Jenny gave Stone an uncertain smile before turning her attention back towards Carter.

  “What’s you’s names?” she asked in a thick Scottish accent.

  “It’s probably best that you don’t know,” Carter said factually.

  “That Stephens and Markov?” she asked, pointing at the two bodies.

  “Yes,” Stone answered, speaking directly to the young girl for the first time.

  “They dead?” she asked Stone.

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “Good!” she said firmly. “Sick fuckers!”

  “You’re welcome,” Stone said with a slight smile.

  “So what happens to me now?”

  “Now, you go home,” Carter replied simply. “But first, could you tell me how you ended up gift wrapped and lying in the boot of this car?”

  She nodded and sighed.

  “I lives in Glasgow, last week I cum down to London fer a modelling job. I seen an advert on the internet. I spoke with Stephens on the phone. He seemed nice, you know, polite — it sounded like he was ok. I sent him some pictures like he asked. He promised to pay for my rail fare, and hotel, and stuff. Me mam wasn’t happy; she wanted me to stay in college. We had a big row and I walked out. Then I phones Stephens and told him I was coming, and he said he would meet me at the station.”

  Her eyes were filling with tears of embarrassment, but she bravely continued with her story.

  “Everything seemed alright for a bit, until he says there was no modelling job, and I would get killed if I didn’t do what he said. I thought I was gonna get raped, but instead he brought me to some house and gave me to Markov so I wouldn’t run away. Markov wasn’t happy ‘cos he weren’t allowed to touch me. He said I was getting sold — he called it ‘married’ — to some Russian guy.”

  She pointed at her clothes.

  “Today they made me undress while they watched. Then they made me put on this ‘outfit’ and then I got tied up and put in the boot.”

  “Did they…?” Stone asked uncomfortably.

  “Na!” she shook her head, “Markov said the guy they sold me to paid extra for someone pure.”

  “So now what?” Stone asked Carter.

  “I think I have an idea that could work,” Carter replied with a smile. He turned back to the girl. “Jenny? Can you drive?”

  “You bet. I passed my test first time,” she said proudly.

  Carter smiled and pointed at the picnic benches.

  “Good girl. Please go and sit by the water for a while — ok?”

  She nodded and tottered across the gravel towards the water’s edge. Carter shook his head sadly.

  “Lucky girl. I shudder to think about the life that we’ve just saved her from. In my experience she would probably have been whisked out of the Country in some private jet, used and abused for five years and then sold on to the next highest bidder.” He pointed towards Stephens and Markov. “Are you feeling better about these two now?”

  “Definitely! Right now I feel pretty good!”

  “Give me a hand to put the bodies into the boot, and then I’ll explain what happens next.”

  Five minutes later, they stood next to Jenny at the water’s edge. Carter handed her the car keys and the shopping bag. Inside were the watches and jewellery, and half the money. The remainder of the cash would go to Megan, along with the mobile phones and wallets for her to inspect later. Carter spoke slowly but gravely, to ensure that the young girl took what he was about to say seriously.

  “Jenny, you’re a very lucky girl. My friend and I have just saved your life. Now you’re going to go home, and forget that you ever met us.” He looked directly into her eyes. “For us all to be safe, you must promise to do exactly what I say. Is that clear?”

  “Yes,” she nodded, “I promise.”

  “Good girl. Now listen very carefully. I want you to take the car and drive north. I’ve already set the Satnav to take you to the services at Ferrybridge; it’s near Pontefract on the A1. All you have to do is follow the directions. Can you do that?”

  She nodded silently.

  “You’ve got almost a full tank of fuel, so drive directly there. Make sure you drive carefully and stay within the speed limits. When you reach the services, look for a quiet spot where you can park. Pick somewhere well away from all of the other cars. Before you leave the car, make sure that you carefully wipe any surface where you may have left any fingerprints. After you’ve done that, you can leave the keys in the ignition, and walk away. With any luck, a car this nice will be stolen before the day is out. The Satnav would help the police to trace where the car has been, so be sure to remove it, it just unclips. You can throw it away when you get home.”

  He gave a smile and pointed to the bag she was holding.

  “In that bag there’s about £20,000 in cash — it’s all yours now.”

  Jenny gave a gasp of shock and delight, Carter lifted a hand to signal that she needed to continue paying attention.

  “There are some shops at the services. Buy some respectable clothes. Get jeans, a jumper, and a coat. Then dump that dress and get something to eat. I want you to look out for a coach party. There will be plenty about — it’s a regular stop. Find one that’s heading north and buy a ticket from the driver, or just give him some money. Either way, get on a coach, and stay on until Leeds. From there you can get a train home. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, just like hitchhiking,” she nodded, “but what happens if I get stopped by the police?”

  “If that happens, you would have nothing to worry about. You’re the victim here. Just tell them the truth. Tell them that you were abducted to be sold as a sex slave. Then two men you don’t know saved you and sent you on your way.”

  He patted her lightly on the shoulder.

  “Of course the police will probably take away your money,” he said pointedly, allowing a moment’s silence for the message to sink in.

  “Don’t worry, Jenny. Everything will be alright — just do exactly as I’ve asked. Tomorrow you’ll be at home watching television, and next week you can go back to college and complete your education.”

  Jenny thanked both men and gave them a shy hug. After a few false starts she figured out the controls of the car, made an untidy three-poi
nt turn and set off for home. As they watched the Mercedes pull out of the car park, Carter spoke cautiously.

  “Do you think my plan will work?”

  “Not a hope in hell,” Stone replied seriously, “she’s never going back to college.”

  Carter laughed aloud and patted Stone on the shoulder.

  “Go collect the weapons, I’ll get the car.”

  Carter drove them back to the services to collect Stones car. For the time being, they decided to leave all of the weapons safely locked in the boot of Ed’s car. Before setting off for their respective homes, they arranged to meet at Megan’s office in two days.

  “That should give Megan enough time to check the guns, mobile phones and credit cards to see if there are any leads we can follow,” Carter said. He put a comforting hand on Stone’s shoulder. “Why don’t you see if your girlfriend wants to come? I would like to meet her.”

  “Already?” Stone asked in surprise.

  “It’ll be fine, Eric. Megan’s pretty quick. If she’d found anything untoward about Linda, I would have had a call by now.”

  “Ok, I’ll see you…” Stone looked at his watch and grimaced, it was well after midnight, “I’ll see you at Megan’s tomorrow.”

  After Carter had left, Stone sat in the quiet stillness of his car for a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts. Although he had just taken two lives, he felt strangely calm. His martial arts background was one of peace and harmony. Once he had believed that every life was precious, but previous experience had shown him that there were exceptions.

  Finding young Jenny in the boot of the Mercedes had proven that Stephens and Markov had been righteous kills. He was also confident with Carter’s assertion that there was little chance of a rigorous police investigation, and even less chance of it leading directly back to Stone. With that thought, he decided to file the memory of that night along with his recollections of stubbed toes and holiday food poisoning. In short, it would be something that he would never think of again.