Hunting the Wrecking Crew: An Eric Stone Novel

by Nick Albert

  “Jesus!”

  Stone looked around at the damage in the car. The sound of fast approaching sirens did not bode well.

  “We need to move — and quick!” Carter said, pointing to the left, “My car’s just over there.”

  They left the wrecked Audi stranded on the pavement and walked as casually as they could towards Carter’s car. They even remembered to stop at a pay station and validate Ed’s parking ticket. Three minutes later, they were on the main road and driving inconspicuously away from the carnage. The black BMW and the dented Toyota were long gone.

  “We have to find Linda,” Stone said, almost to himself.

  “We will, I promise. But for now, we need to find somewhere to hold up, and we need to get you cleaned up. Your face is a mess.”

  Carter was driving. Stone pulled down the sun visor on his side, and looked in the vanity mirror. His left eye was puffy and swollen from his fight in the toilet, and the right side of his face had several glass chips embedded in the skin. There were more than a few blood smears on his hands and sleeves.

  “You should see the other guy,” he said dully, picking at the glass with his fingernail.

  “I’ll head for the services on the M4. You can get cleaned up, and then we can get some fresh clothes and something to eat.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “You’ll eat,” Carter said firmly, “Linda would want you to.”

  Two hours later, cleaned and fed, they were discussing their next move over a second cup of coffee, when Ed’s phone began playing a tune, to report an incoming call. He stood and walked to the comparative privacy of the window seating at the front of the café. Stone watched his friend listening to the caller and nodding involuntarily. He thought it seemed like a one-sided conversation. As the call finished, Carter snapped the phone shut and strode back to the table.

  “Let’s go!” he said as he walked right by.

  Stone dropped a handful of notes on the table and waved for the waitress to keep the change. He jogged after Carter, catching up with him at the car.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “That was the hospital.”

  “Oh, God! It’s Megan — is she OK?”

  “She’s better than OK Eric; she’s awake,” Carter smiled, “and she wants me to bring my laptop.”

  ***

  The Fixer sat back in his soft leather office chair and steepled his fingers, as he considered the woman glaring daggers at him from the other side of his desk. Up close, Linda Smart was spectacularly good-looking. With her trim figure, short blonde hair, and dazzling green eyes, her beauty was almost breath taking. Leaving her physical qualities aside, there was something else about her, which caught his attention. The Fixer had known several attractive women in his life. In his experience, they usually brandished their looks like a magic shield. Something to deflect the unworthy and attract the wealthy. However, this woman seemed to wear her beauty as casually as a pair of old jeans. It was almost as if she didn’t know, or didn’t care. Somehow, to The Fixer, that made her even more attractive.

  He gave her a casual smile.

  “So you’re Linda Smart.”

  “And you’re an arsehole.”

  “Tut-tut Linda, that’s no way to talk. Can’t we agree to get along?”

  “Yes — if you agree to stop breathing.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up. It’s not going to happen,” he replied confidently.

  “I bet Helen Atkins thought that when she woke up this morning.”

  He nodded and pulled a sad face.

  “Poor Helen — she didn’t realise that she had outlived her usefulness.”

  “You’re a cold bastard — I’ll give you that much.”

  He stared at her openly, delighting in how she shifted uncomfortably, under the irresistible energy of his gaze. The Fixer knew that he could force her to be nice to him. He could make her satisfy his desires, but he decided to remain patient. He had stolen another man’s property. She was his now, and she would remain that way. He had plenty of time. Like a cat with a mouse, he decided to play with her. He wanted to sweeten his appetite for the main course that would follow.

  “Tell me about Eric Stone,” he said calmly.

  Linda gave him a cold smile.

  “He’s going to find you, and when he does he’s going to kill you. What more do you need to know?”

  The Fixer shrugged nonchalantly.

  “What attracted you to him?”

  “What?” Linda asked, stunned by the unexpected question.

  He spread his hands defensively.

  “Humour me. I’m fascinated by the human psyche.”

  She shrugged.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Alright, I’ll bite — he’s a good person.”

  “Oh, you mean ‘weak’.”

  “No, I mean exactly what I said. He is good and kind and handsome, and I love him.”

  The Fixer snorted.

  “Oh please — what can you possibly know about love?”

  “I know what I like, and it isn’t an arsehole like you.”

  “Sticks and stones — sticks and stones!” he chided.

  “Give me a stick, and I’ll break your bones,” she threatened.

  “Do you know? I believe you would.” His smile suggested a hidden subtext. “Nevertheless, you will soon grow to love me.”

  Now Linda snorted.

  “You’d better kill me now.”

  “I’m not going to kill you, Linda Smart. I’m going to marry you.”

  She reeled backwards in shock.

  “Oh my God! You’re totally certifiable!”

  “You may be correct…” he conceded, “But the fact remains that you will willingly become my bride. I have…chosen you.”

  She shook her head in disbelief.

  “Never — ever — going to happen.”

  “Oh…but you’re wrong Linda Smart. You see, I happen to know that a woman like you does not respond to good looks, or money. However, you will become helpless in the presence of power. And I have real power.”

  The fixer leaned forward in his seat.

  “Allow me to demonstrate.”

  And in that instant, for Linda Smart, nothing would ever be the same again.

  ***

  Although Megan was sitting up in bed when they arrived, she looked pale, and her head was heavily bandaged. There were tubes and wires connecting her to several medical monitoring devices that seemed to randomly click and peep without an obvious reason. The policeman guarding the room gave Carter a stiff smile and a respectful nod. Then he politely stepped into the corridor, followed closely by a matronly nurse.

  Before coming up to the ward, they had stopped at the hospital shop. Carter bought flowers but Stone opted for a big box of chocolates. Megan was happy to see the boys, and delighted with the chocolates. She immediately pushed her oxygen mask up and devoured several soft centres in quick succession.

  “That nurse is a Communist, or a Nazi, I can’t decide which,” she mumbled between mouthfuls. “Because of my ‘blood pressure’ I’m on a low fat diet — as if that’s going to make me feel any better!”

  “She seems very nice. I spoke with her on the way in,” Carter said in a fatherly tone of voice. “You should keep the oxygen mask on. Your lungs are a little burned.”

  “Don’t I know it — I’m coughing like a two-pack a day smoker.”

  Suddenly she bowed her head. Nobody spoke. When she looked up again, there were tears in her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Ed.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Megan.”

  “Somehow they found me. Somehow, they got in to my place. I should have stopped them. I should have put up a fight. All my stuff…my cats…”

  She hung her head and sobbed. Ed put his hand on her shoulder and waited until the tears were spent. Stone stood quietly by the window, immersed in his own grief and distress. When Megan
had dried her eyes, mightily blown her nose, and eaten three more chocolates, Stone spoke for the first time since they had arrived.

  “Megan, they took Linda. It was my fault. We knew it was a trap, but I took her anyway.”

  Her hand shot to her mouth in horror.

  “Oh my God! Poor Linda. Oh Eric, I’m so sorry.”

  “I have to find her,” he whispered to no one in particular.

  Carter broke the silence.

  “Megan? Before the fire, you said that you had found a clue. It could be important. It could help us to find Linda. Do you remember what it was?”

  Megan shook her head.

  “I can’t remember…”

  Her eyes grew wet again.

  “My memory…it’s all…smoky.”

  “I brought my laptop. Perhaps if we looked at the files again…perhaps you might remember something,” Carter asked gently.

  “Of course.”

  She waved for him to bring the laptop forward.

  While Megan’s fingers flew across the keyboard, Carter slowly walked through everything that had happened since the fire. He told her about contacting Helen Atkins and arranging the meeting. He explained why they had gone, even though they had suspected a trap, and then he described how Atkins had been brutally shot down. Megan remained silent, right up to the part where he told her how Linda had screamed in pain over the radio.

  “Those bastards!”

  She looked at Stone, her eyes still wet, but now fierce in determination.

  “This wasn’t your fault Eric, any more than the death of Charles. These are bad people — it’s that simple.”

  Stone slowly turned to face the window.

  “I have to find Linda,” he whispered, “I have to save her.”

  Megan gave Ed a grave look. Together they shared a dreadful thought, about what might be happening to Linda Smart.

  ***

  Gordon McIntosh knocked, and walked into The Fixer’s office. He was carefully carrying a large glass Kilner jar, inside there was a second much smaller jar. Both jars were filled with clear liquid. He paused for a moment to look at the beautiful blonde woman, sitting submissively at the side of The Fixer’s desk. He had a brief image of a young Queen sitting with her King.

  “Gordon! Come in please.”

  He used an expansive sweep of his arm, to indicate his new possession.

  “This is Linda Smart. She used to be with Eric Stone, but now she’s with me.”

  Gordon was unsure how to respond.

  “Er…hello?”

  The Fixer smiled at some private joke.

  “Don’t worry, Gordon. Linda isn’t feeling herself just now.”

  Linda stared at Gordon with dull dead eyes. He mentally shuddered as he imagined what the Fixer had been doing to this young woman for the last two hours. With great effort, he tore his eyes away from her slack tear-stained face.

  “You wanted to see me, Boss?”

  “Yes. I wanted to check your preparations for…” he waved his hand in an arc, “this place.”

  Gordon looked from his boss to Linda and back again. The Fixer held up a calming hand.

  “Oh, it’s OK Gordon — you can talk freely. She’s quite compliant just now.”

  Feeling on safer ground Gordon risked a smile.

  “Everything’s ready, Boss.” He cautiously held up the Kilner jar. “That’s why I brought this.”

  The Fixer smiled. Earlier he had spoken with his broker. He had reported that every movable asset would be transferred to a numbered offshore account by close of play tomorrow. Mentally he had shrugged in tacit acceptance at the cost. He recognized that the sudden decision to liquidate his assets would result in a considerable loss. Nevertheless, he had already made plans to ensure that the thieving bastard didn’t live long enough to enjoy his share.

  At least he was consoled by the knowledge that in just a few hours, he would board a private jet with Linda Smart, and they would fly far, far away, to begin a long and happy life together. Before then, he wanted to kill the remaining members of the Wrecking Crew. Then he would destroy the bodies, and any other incriminating evidence, by incinerating the house. The Fixer looked at Gordon’s jar of liquid, and braced himself for the inevitable science lecture.

  “Go ahead, Gordon. Tell me what I need to do to torch this place without losing my eyebrows.”

  Gordon smiled proudly.

  “Actually it’s really simple. As long as you follow my instructions, you’ll have plenty of time to set the fire and leave.”

  The Fixer nodded in encouragement.

  “Go on.”

  Gordon produced a drawing from his pocket and placed it in the desk. It was a rough diagram of the house and grounds. He pointed to a square containing four circles.

  “OK…At each corner of the basement there’s a tea chest filled with Thermite. It’s a mixture of iron oxide and aluminium powder. That stuff burns at an incredibly high temperature, hot enough to melt most metals. Unfortunately, it can be difficult to ignite, so I’ve added some barium nitrate to the mix. That will make the Thermite burn even hotter, but with the benefit of being easier to light.”

  Gordon used a pen and laboriously drew an arrow, pointing towards one of the circles.

  “This tea chest nearest to the door is painted yellow. It contains strips of magnesium metal, which will act as a fuse. Once the first chest is alight, the others will follow in sequence — they are all rigged to burn.”

  His eyes glittered with excitement as he explained his preparations.

  “To add a little variety, on each floor above the tea chests, I’ve placed a five gallon jerry-can of petrol. If you add all that to a thousand litres of kerosene, in that heating oil tank out by the garage, we can expect a pretty spectacular display.”

  The Fixer tried to look as if he understood the chemistry — or even cared about it, but it was hard going. He had always found Gordon’s passion for conflagrations to be distasteful.

  “So how do I start the fire?”

  “That’s what this is for.”

  Gordon proudly jiggled the Kilner jar.

  “It contains a mixture of potassium chlorate, sucrose, and nitro cellulose. It’s something that the British spooks invented during the Second World War, to destroy secret documents. Inside this Kilner jar, is a second smaller jar filled with sulphuric acid. When mixed, these chemicals produce a very hot and nasty fire.”

  “Sounds delightful.”

  Gordon didn’t notice his bosses thinly disguised sarcasm.

  “Oh, it is wonderful — and quite spectacular.”

  The Fixer was becoming impatient. He gave Gordon a cold stare.

  “Anyway, all you need to do is throw the jar into the yellow tea chest, and walk away.”

  The Fixer raised his eyebrows. He’d had some previous experience of his arsonist’s work.

  “That’s all? Just throw and walk away?”

  “Well, there will be a mighty ‘woof’ when the jar breaks, but the thermite will take a little while to get going. So I would suggest that you throw the jar and then leave immediately.”

  The Fixer stood, indicating that the meeting was over.

  “Well Gordon…it sounds as if you’ve done another excellent job.”

  “Thank you!”

  The arsonist smiled proudly, as he turned to leave.

  “Gordon?”

  “Yes Boss?”

  “Leave the jar…”

  ***

  “OK, we’ve made some good progress. Let’s summarise.”

  Carter was trying to be both supportive and optimistic.

  “Oh come on, Ed! We haven’t made any progress at all.”

  Stone banged his fist on the wall, his frustration getting the better of his usually mild nature. He turned his back on the room and stared unseeingly out of the window. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he mumbled a quiet apology.

  “It’s OK Eric, we understand,” Megan said. “We’re all d
esperate to help Linda.”

  Stone continued to stare out of the window. He half-heartedly listened as Megan and Carter talked through the known facts for the third time, but he couldn’t focus his mind. Linda was out there somewhere, and she was in terrible danger, or worse. At that moment, The Fixer could be doing something unspeakable to her, and Stone knew there was nothing that he could do. He closed his eyes in an effort to hold back the tears. His heart raced and his chest constricted under the insufferable weight of frustration. He understood now, the helpless pain that every grieving relative suffers when a loved one goes missing.

  With a huge effort, he pulled his emotions back together. He realised that if he lost it now, he would be of no use to Megan and Carter. Eric thought of Linda, he pictured her. He evoked an image of her happy smiling face, her beautiful eyes, and her inner sparkle. He realised that he had to keep visualising her that way. He had to pretend that those other things weren’t happening, and he had to believe that by some miracle she was unhurt. Otherwise, he just couldn’t function. Behind him, the conversation eventually came back to Second Chances, and the Trustees.

  “There is one question that we never asked,” Carter said. “Why was Charles Rathbone targeted?”

  “I thought it was because he was getting too close to the Wrecking Crew,” Megan replied.

  “Well that’s what we assumed, but if that was the case, wouldn’t they have just killed him — like they did Valerie Jenkins? Surely that would have been a more predictable result than an induced suicide?”

  “So what was the motive?” Megan asked.

  “Charles thought that he became a target because of his politics, maybe he was right,” Carter said. “Perhaps the actual motive was stopping Charles’ ‘True Democracy’ movement.”

  “But how does his suicide stop the movement? I mean, surely someone else will just take over. His death achieved nothing. You can’t kill an idea,” Megan said.

  Carter clicked his fingers.

  “Perhaps his suicide was just an unintended consequence. If they wanted to discredit Charles, and his idea of ‘True Democracy’, then associating him with paedophilia was a perfect way to do it. Killing someone only works once, but a character assassination works every day. His suicide was probably the last thing that they would have wanted.”