Hunting the Wrecking Crew: An Eric Stone Novel

by Nick Albert

  Megan nodded.

  “So we have to ask, ‘Who would benefit from stopping True Democracy?’ — and I guess the answer is any competing politician.”

  “Like Sir Harold Heathfield?” Carter asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Consecrated excrement!”

  Megan sat forward and started tapping at the laptop.

  “Heathfield is ‘Father of the House’, and a Trustee of Second Chances. Perhaps he was using his own organisation to remove a threat to his political ideals.”

  “Where does he live?” Carter asked.

  “Well…according to the House of Commons register of Member’s interests, he has five properties listed. A flat in London, a family home in Surrey and three overseas holiday homes in Spain, France and one in Florida.” She pulled an unsympathetic face. “It must be a hard life.”

  “What about the other Trustee?” Carter asked.

  “Simon Cartwright? We already looked at him.” Megan shrugged noncommittally. “Before his wife died, they lived in a house bearing the offensive name of ‘Hug-a-Mugger’. According to the electoral roll, he still lives there now.”

  “Could he be that arrogant?” Stone had spoken for the first time in almost an hour.

  “Excuse me?” Megan said.

  Stone turned to face Carter. His face spoke of some huge hidden secret.

  “I asked if Simon Cartwright could be that arrogant.”

  “What have you got, Eric?” Carter asked.

  “Something has been bouncing around in my head for a couple of days, something…just out of reach. Now I’ve got it.”

  “WHAT?” Megan asked in frustration.

  “It’s not Hug-a-Mugger, his house is called Huggermugger.”

  Stone spelled the word, his face split in a wide smile.

  Megan and Carter looked at him blankly.

  “It’s from Shakespeare — Hamlet, I think.”

  Stone closed his eyes as he searched for the memory.

  “I think it was Claudius — ‘For good Polonius' death and we have done but greenly, in huggermugger to inter him’.”

  They continued to stare.

  “What? I read,” he shrugged.

  “I still don’t get it,” Megan said.

  “Among other things…” Stone said pointedly, “huggermugger means secrecy or clandestine. To act slyly, to cause confusion, and to create muddle.”

  Carter face was a picture of delight and astonishment.

  “In a single word, it’s everything that we know the Wrecking Crew does!”

  “But can this ‘Fixer’ be that arrogant?” Stone asked.

  “You spoke with him…” Carter said, “You know he is.”

  “I’ll call the house up on my mapping software.”

  Megan’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

  “Here it is. It’s just outside a village called Hampstead Norryes in Berkshire.”

  She looked at Stone.

  “That’s not far from The Oracle in Reading…Let’s see if there is a satellite view.”

  The picture came up on the laptop. As Megan zoomed in, Stone and Carter leaned over the bed for a better view. She pointed out the features.

  “Biggish place, looks like a single story residence, outbuildings, several cars, and a humongous satellite dish — their broadband speed must be off the scale!”

  Stone’s finger jabbed the screen.

  “That looks like the Toyota Hilux that rammed us. And that one could be the same BMW that they took Linda in.”

  “When was this picture taken?” Carter asked.

  Megan quickly checked the image data.

  “It’s recent — six days ago.”

  “What’s that?” Carter stabbed the screen. “Can you zoom in?”

  “Sure! This is a high-resolution image — a Government special. Ironic really, when you think about it.”

  She rolled the mouse and the image grew. It was heavily pixelated at first, but the detail quickly filled in. Just outside the house a man was standing, with his head tilted slightly backwards, as if he were enjoying the sunshine on his face. Although the image was small, the satellite had clearly captured a picture of an elderly man, with a goatee beard and a tweed jacket.

  “That’s Peter White!” Carter shouted, jumping with excitement. “We’ve found them, Eric. We’ve found the Wrecking Crew!”

  “And Linda,” Stone said, “we’ve found Linda.”

  He turned to face the window. His eyes were looking slightly above the horizon, as if he were trying to see all the way to Huggermugger. As if he were trying to see Linda Smart.

  “Now we have a chance,” he whispered, “Now we can get her back!”

  SEVENTEEN

  When Norris Halpin arrived at the Wrecking Crew’s base, it was almost 11pm. He was the last to arrive. Given the nature of the service they provided, it was normal for The Fixer to summon the crew in the middle of the night. Norris suspected that they had been contracted to do some rush job, and he mentally prepared himself for another long night of searching his data banks for the required information. It was inconvenient and sometimes morally questionable work, but he had to admit that the money he received, was more than adequate compensation. Climbing out of his car, he noticed that all of the other team member’s cars were already there.

  “Must be a big job,” he whispered under his breath.

  As usual, Kitten was waiting outside the front door. Halpin walked over and stood obediently with his arms outstretched, while the huge Russian wrestler patted him down for concealed weapons. Although there was a decently stocked weapons locker in the basement, none of the staff was permitted to carry a gun, unless otherwise instructed, so pat-downs were commonplace.

  “The Boss says to wait in the conference room,” Kitten said in his unusually girlish voice.

  “What’s going on?” Halpin asked.

  “Dunno — just do as he says.”

  Inside the conference room, Halpin found Peter White, Becka, and Gordon McIntosh. They were in a conspiratorial huddle around the coffee machine. Halpin helped himself to a mug of coffee and a Danish pastry.

  “What gives?” he asked directing his question to nobody in particular, “Some rush job again?”

  “We don’t think so,” Peter White whispered.

  Halpin raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “We were at The Oracle in Reading earlier, chasing after this Eric Stone guy. Something went very wrong,” Peter White said gravely. “One of my guys is dead, two are in hospital, and Helen is missing.”

  “I heard a news report in the car,” Halpin whispered. “They said there’d been a shooting at some shopping centre in Reading. They said a woman was dead.”

  Becka put her hand to her mouth in shock.

  “Stone must have killed her!”

  Peter White gestured towards The Fixer’s office with his coffee mug.

  “Bunny said The Boss captured some woman. She’s in the office now — I think its Linda Smart.”

  Halpin grimaced.

  “So why are we all here?”

  “Becka thinks we are going to get paid off,” Gordon McIntosh said gruffly.

  “What?”

  Becka leaned in close and whispered.

  “I saw some data flags yesterday,” she pointed a thumb towards The Fixer’s office, “he’s moving his money overseas. I think the Wrecking Crew’s closing.”

  “For real?” Halpin asked, secretly delighted at the prospect of having his life back.

  Becka nodded.

  “Finished, over — kaput!”

  “And there’s something else,” Gordon added, “he had me rig this place to burn, so we don’t leave any evidence.”

  “Wow! So what’s going to happen now?” Halpin asked.

  “I suspect it’ll be like last Christmas,” Peter White offered, “He’ll call us in and hand over an envelope, ‘Thank you for all your hard work…bla…bla,’ except this time we won’t be coming back in January
.”

  “Do you think we’ll get Helen’s share?”

  “Fuck’s sake, Gordon!” Becka snapped.

  “I was just thinking out loud.”

  He shrugged ruefully.

  “I bet you were thinking the same.”

  Nobody tried to disagree.

  ***

  Carter and Stone were parked less than a kilometre from Huggermugger, the building that they had identified as the Wrecking Crew’s base of operations. With Megan’s help, Stone had used her laptop to do some careful reconnaissance of the target area, before they had left the hospital.

  Simon Cartwright’s house had been built in the centre of a five-acre field, bordered on three sides by thick woodland. Stone had quickly decided that it was a horrible location for a frontal assault. Formally, the site of a Second World War airfield, there was nothing but flat open ground for miles. A car or pedestrian, approaching the building along the access road from the east, would be an easy target to any waiting gunman.

  The only possibility was for Stone to approach from the west, accessing the rear of the property through the woods. From there he would need to leave the protection of the trees and somehow remain undetected, while he traversed the remaining one-hundred metres of open ground to the house. Using the cover of darkness and a lot of luck, Stone thought he had a slightly better than 60% chance of making it unseen and alive. It was a tall order, but he could see no other option, if he was going to save Linda.

  With the benefit of a clear satellite image, they had been able to identify the point where the road passed closest to the woods. Using the Sat Nav in his car, Carter had driven directly to a small lay-by that was one-hundred metres west of the tree line. The earlier cloud and fog had dissipated, and the moon was high in the sky, clearly illuminating the frosty grass. Carter pointed to the sky.

  “That’s a ‘Hunter’s Moon’. Take it as an omen of good luck.”

  “Good for hunting, bad for trying to sneak up on someone,” Stone replied sternly.

  Carter pointed to a farm track bordered with a line of bushes and a ditch.

  “That path will lead you directly into the woods. When you get there, keep going straight. After around fifty metres you should reach the clearing at the back of the house.”

  Stone nodded once and they climbed out of the car. Carter opened the boot and handed Eric the crossbow with its quiver of four arrows, then a hunting knife, and the two-way radio.

  “I’ve changed to channel eight. It’s unlikely that they’re still monitoring Linda’s radio, but we can’t be too careful.”

  “Channel eight it is.”

  The tension in his voice was obvious to hear. He reached into the boot for Anton Stephens’ handgun, checked the load, and then tucked it under his belt in the small of his back. Stone looked at his friend one last time.

  “Listen out, but don’t expect to hear from me until I need a diversion — or a lift home.”

  “I’ll be waiting — good luck.”

  Without further comment, Stone turned and jogged away into the distance. Carter waited until he was out of sight before he climbed into his car and slowly drove away.

  ***

  As Simon Cartwright stared longingly at his latest possession, he felt the soft warmth of anticipation spreading through his loins. His eyes slowly travelled up her shapely legs, and across her flat stomach, until they reached the gentle peak of her breasts, just visible under her white blouse. He paused there to savour the way they subtly rose and fell in time with her short hard breaths.

  “Relax, Linda — you’re hyperventilating.”

  She complied with his order, and gradually her breathing slowed. Even so, when his eyes reached the soft curve of her neck, he could clearly see a vein jumping in time with the wild beating of her heart. He brought his eyes a little higher, around the firm line of her chin, to the softness of her lips. He thought they looked a little dry.

  “Lick your lips.”

  She obliged instantly.

  “Good girl. I can see we’re going to get along just fine.”

  He looked away from her beautiful face, partly to check the time on his watch, but also to avoid looking into the slack dullness of her eyes. He hoped that in time those eyes would come to life, particularly as she came to accept his mastery over her. For now, he preferred to avoid ruining his view. Anyway, he thought, it was almost midnight and his plan to disassemble the Wrecking Crew was under way. Simon Cartwright smiled. Soon he and Linda would be able to leave for the airport.

  ***

  It had taken fifteen minutes for Stone to work his way carefully through the woods. The crossbow was cocked and ready for use, but with the safety on. He held it over his shoulder, to avoid it accidentally snagging on a branch. He had gambled that the woods would not be patrolled or alarmed, and it seemed that he was right.

  Initially his progress through the thick undergrowth had been painfully slow, particularly without the aid of a torch. After a while, he had spotted a path in the dappled moonlight, and his pace improved. The path was really just a track, a slight gap pushed through the bramble and bushes. Stone imagined it had been created by the regular passage of some medium sized animal, perhaps a badger, or a fox. In any event, it cut a useful swathe through the undergrowth that led him directly to the clearing.

  Peering through the last row of trees, Stone could clearly see Simon Cartwright’s house in the distance. From his position, he could see the rear of the main building, and some sort of barn or garage. At the front there was a gravelled parking area containing six vehicles. He recognised two of the cars from the earlier altercation at The Oracle. He could see the dented Toyota that Kitten and Bunny had driven, and a black BMW — the same car that had abducted Linda. Any doubts that Stone may have had about the validity of the operation were now gone.

  The house was a large brick built bungalow with a wide tiled roof. Between the barn and the rear of the house, there was a cylindrical tank for storing heating oil. Towards the left, mounted on a metal post in the ground was a huge satellite dish, perhaps eight feet wide — the source of the Wrecking Crew’s broadband. There were three windows and a French door facing the rear, all were showing that the lights inside were on.

  He watched the house for a full two minutes, but could see no obvious signs of movement outside. Using the sights on the crossbow, he studied the building and its surroundings more closely. Towards the front of the house, there was the occasional hint of a frosty breath, or perhaps some cigarette smoke. Looking to the rear, he twice saw someone’s shadow briefly pass across one of the lighted windows. Although there was no obvious sign of any external security cameras, Stone knew that modern cameras could be small and difficult to spot. He would just have to take a risk. It was time to move.

  Brightly illuminated in the moonlight, the field ahead looked like one-hundred metres of soft rolling waves of snow. A person standing in that field would be as obvious as a muddy footprint on a white carpet. The only obvious break in the gently waving grass was the continuation of the animal track that Stone had followed through the wood. His dark clothes would help to make him less visible, but he would need some camouflage for when he got nearer to the house. Assuming he lived that long. Using the hunting knife, Stone cut a large branch off a leafy bush and dropped it over the fence. Then he picked up the crossbow, climbed through a gap in the railing and silently slid into the long grass.

  Laying prone on the animal track, Stone held the branch in his left hand so that the foliage was directly in front of his face, and partially draped across his back. He hoped that anyone casually looking towards the field might have thought they were seeing a bush gently waving in the breeze, but they would not notice the man lying prone in the grass behind. At least that was the theory.

  Holding the crossbow in his right hand, low to the ground, but ready to use, Stone began to silently belly-crawl forward. He began with his left arm out straight, holding the bush upright. As he moved forward, he kept t
he bush still by gradually bending his left elbow. When his left hand touched his shoulder, he slowly extended the arm, moving the bush forward again. Each time he crawled to the bush, he moved forward half a metre. He repeated the bush/arm/crawl manoeuvre, repeatedly, slowly following the track towards the house.

  ***

  Bunny checked his watch. It was time to begin. He had his orders, and as always, The Fixer was very specific about what he had to do. He’d been looking forward to this all afternoon, particularly because he knew that he was going to get a special bonus. He opened the door to the conference room. Gordon, Peter, and Norris were huddled around the coffee machine. Becka was sitting with her feet up on the conference table.

  “The Boss wants you three boys downstairs. There’s a job needs doing.”

  He stared at Becka.

  “You need to stay here.”

  She slowly stood and gave Bunny the finger. Ignoring the insult, he spun on his heel and left the room. Gordon McIntosh followed immediately, Peter White and Norris Halpin exchanged a glance and a shrug, and then trotted on behind. They knew that you obeyed Bunny, unless you liked pain. Becka casually turned her back on the door and selected another pastry.

  They followed the bodyguard down into the basement. Sharing nervous glances, they waited alongside the weight training equipment, and coloured tea chests, while he opened the gun locker. Bunny carefully selected a handgun; it was a Colt .38 super automatic. He expertly checked the mechanism, loaded the clip, made the gun safe, and then handed it to Gordon.

  “The Boss says you’re to wait out the front with Kitten. Watch out in case someone comes.”

  “Got it.”

  Gordon took the gun and left without another word. He had learned not to argue. Bunny reached back into the gun locker and withdrew his favourite gun. It was a Sig Sauer P226. He slowly and deliberately attached a silencer, and checked that the gun was loaded with a full clip of 9mm Hydra-shok explosive bullets. He looked over his shoulder and smiled reassuringly.