Brock Steele Sphere

by Alex Bloodfire

  “You know all about this, don’t you?” Brock pointed the pistol towards Icarus’s temple. “Who is Sighrus?”

  “Lower the gun. I can help you both.”

  A screech of car tyres pierced the night air, followed by a deafening bang. The Renault’s windscreen smashed, glass shards flying across the street. They all ducked and Icarus howled, grabbing at Brock’s arm, bright red blood dripping through his hand as he fell to the ground.

  “If you’re hellbent on going back, get in touch with Rawlins. We know each other through MI5 and we spoke about how suspiciously Sighrus has been acting. He’ll tell you about Sphere. Now run!”

  The distant tapping of shoes clattering on the road got nearer, and Icarus became distant, his body rigid, his head lolling to the side. Ty grabbed at Brock, who jumped up like lightning. He saw three men in grey suits and a tall man he assumed to be Sighrus heading towards them. Preston darted off in the opposite direction.

  Both sprinted on the damp concrete road around the magnificent castle, bringing them to a locked metal gate and a pitch-black park. Ty swung himself over and Brock followed, hitting the brick path below, momentarily turning back to fire a bullet from his pistol.

  “Rawlins? Did he mean that government guy? He lives in that beige house opposite the heath, it’s common knowledge. But I’m through and I’m not coming with you,” Ty yelled.

  Chapter 19

  Brock’s vision swam as he tried to focus on his surroundings amid the shouting.

  “Brock? Brock! Wake up.”

  His eyes shot wide open, and bright sunlight practically blinded him through the windscreen. Ty had parked the dark green Mini, conveniently nicked and hot-wired from a dodgy side-street in Edinburgh, in some poky field in the Lake District in the early hours to get some shut-eye before they returned to the big city.

  Yanking the seat lever, Brock pulled himself up to eye level, viewing the miles of grassy hills and trees blowing in the autumn landscape. Turning his face from the bright sunlight, he rubbed his eyes, forcing them open. He glanced at Ty, who was mysteriously hovering over him.

  “Err, what time is it, buddy? And thanks for sticking with me.”

  Ty glanced at his watch and Brock raised his arms, stretching his shoulders. He pulled the door open and fresh air blew throughout the Mini.

  “Wow, it’s late afternoon. Just gone 4 p.m. by my watch; looks like we’ve slept through most of the day. I’d still have been kipping if you weren’t smashing your fists into the dash screaming out.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Late afternoon? And how did we end up in the Lake District?”

  “We got lost, ended up here. It’s not funny—we could have ended up anywhere! It was pitch black last night.”

  Brock stared up towards the ceiling, chuckling. “We should get out of here. Move over, I’ll drive.”

  Ty jumped out, stepping around the green Mini, and Brock slipped himself over to the driver’s seat. Once Ty was in, Brock stabbed the key into the ignition and the engine fired up. He raced down the country road like a rocket on fire.

  Eventually, he pulled out of the M1 into London’s traffic chaos. The change in speed woke Ty.

  Moving slowly through road after road, exhaust fumes pumping through the open windows, they finally pulled out of the chaotic traffic into the greenery of Hampstead Heath.

  “Rawlins’ place will be crawling with cops and the likes. You should keep away,” said Ty.

  “Probably,” laughed Brock.

  He swung the wheel, sharply turning into a road at the edge of the heath and parking in a space near some concrete bollards. Ty swung around, pointing through the window towards a bright hilly landscape.

  “The old codger’s house is sitting on that hill through those trees. He bought it from a former prime minister some years back. Read about it in the paper.”

  “How do you know he’s still living there?”

  Ty shrugged. He moved his finger towards a large beige painted building all by itself on the hill. From a distance, it resembled a mansion or mini palace fit for someone important. It must be worth a fortune in today’s money. Brock knew Ty was right—security would be plastered all over it, someone of his status. But he was going in regardless, with little choice. Icarus had urged him to go, so he would find out what Rawlins knew and how he could help.

  “We’ll have to bypass security somehow.”

  Ty’s jaw dropped slightly and he shot him a glance. “No way. I told you back in Edinburgh—I’m through.”

  “Trust me, it’ll be simple. We case the joint, see who’s watching it, and slip in together. Should be a right old doddle, right up your street, aye?” said Brock, slapping him on the back.

  “So you think I’m a burglar now? I’ve never smashed my way into anyone’s house in my life. I steal cars, occasionally, I’m not a professional burglar. I wouldn’t have a clue.”

  Darkness fell on the heath and the temperature dropped considerably for an early autumn evening. They lounged about in the tiny car for two solid hours, monitoring the beige building from across the heath. It appeared to be lacking in security; Brock failed to pick any car out of place.

  He pulled the pistol from the glovebox, slipping it into the back of his tracksuit bottoms, and headed towards the house. Ty followed behind him. Soldiers always attacked in the dark, late at night. Brock knew this to be the right time to move, although the look on Ty’s face when he stood up was of an animal in fright.

  The street lights barely lit up the road around them, and the light from the house, particularly the front room, gleamed out into the landscape. Rawlins’ garden appeared well maintained. It was lit up around the edges, showing off a beautifully cut green front lawn and flowers that had once bloomed and were now gone. Overhanging trees shed their leaves onto the neatly laid stone pathways.

  Ty and Brock tip-toed over the smooth concrete drive, heading straight towards a window. Both peered through a window at a well-dressed old man bent over his desk reading some kind of papers, a teapot and china cup steaming at the side of him. Brock glanced into the road for any security; there was none. Pulling his jacket, together attempting to keep the body heat in, he moved over to the front door, tapping on it.

  “Are you crazy?” asked Ty.

  Brock shook his head.

  “Shush, nobody is around. He’s on his own, and I’ve got the pistol if anything gets out of hand.”

  Moments later the door opened and Rawlins appeared in his immaculate Saville-Row black suit and a bulging silver Rolex on his wrist.

  “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  “Icarus sent us.”

  There was a cold, blank look on Rawlins’ face. Brock slipped his hand towards the back of his trousers.

  “Who? I’ve never heard of anyone called Icarus.”

  Pulling the semi-automatic pistol from the back of his trousers, Brock aimed it directly at Rawlins’ temple. He didn’t even flinch.

  “Take what you want.”

  “We’re not here to rob you. Like I said, Icarus sent me.”

  Ty barged through the door, eagerly stepping into the chandelier-lit hallway. He grabbed a mahogany antique chair from under a colourful picture on the wall, sending it spinning across the floor. Rawlins glowered at him.

  “Come on, guys,” he said. “We should talk.”

  He led them through the hallway, paintings either side. Brock picked up the chair, standing it upright again, and followed Rawlins into a lavish kitchen. Brass taps sat over a neat brass sink next to an eight-ring cooker. Huge paintings hung on the wall. Ty peered at a painter’s name, furrowing his brow. A huge oak table sat in the middle of the room surrounded by mahogany chairs, and dim spotlights gleamed down on it from the ceiling. Rawlins took in a deep breath, his eyes open wide.

  “As I told you gentlemen at my front door, tak
e what you want and be on your way.”

  Brock paused, taking in the elegance and aura of the kitchen.

  “You like my taste in design?”

  “No, it feels like I’ve been here before. Icarus insisted you could help me. He was certain. A girl called Sarah has been snatched off the street by a man called Sighrus, and I believe she is in grave danger.” He pointed the gun at Rawlins again, who still didn’t flinch. Either he was used to people smashing into his home or he was hiding something. Or both.

  “Sighrus? I’ve never been acquainted with a man by that name.”

  Brock leaned across one of the mahogany chairs and stared silently at Rawlins. Ty picked up a china cup, holding it in the air as though he was about to drop it down on the floor.

  “I’m going to inform you, my security are all over this place. They’ve probably picked you two gentlemen up as we speak. If you exit my dwelling now you might have a chance.”

  “We’ve watched the house for several hours. Nobody’s out there and I’m not leaving until you tell me who Sighrus is.”

  “You’ll never get away with this. I’ll make sure you go down for a very long time, I promise you that,” said Rawlins, stepping over to a wooden drinks trolley and pouring himself a sherry.

  “What do you think, Brock? Should we shoot him now?” said Ty.

  “Alright, gentlemen,” he said, holding up his hands. “I know who Sighrus is and I’ve briefly met Icarus, but your girl Sarah doesn’t ring a bell.”

  Ty jumped across to a large fridge freezer, pulling the door open and grabbing at some chocolate cakes, throwing one over to Brock. He failed to catch it and it splattered on the polished tiled floor.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Brock said. “And where can I find this Sighrus?”

  “I wouldn’t advise that. You should keep well away from him. He’s a nasty snake, a gangster in government if you like. And can you please put that revolting weapon down?”

  Brock pointed the gun to the floor.

  “He’s not a man to be trifled with, and you would be crazy to mess with him. He’s a snake, I’m warning you that much. Please leave my property while you still have a chance.”

  Brock pulled up the semi-automatic pistol again, this time aiming directly at Rawlins’ face. Ty shot him a glance, chomping on the chocolate cake.

  Brock stepped over to Rawlins and pushed him over the oak table, pressing the pistol into the back of his neck.

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s a disaster waiting to happen, Brock.”

  Pulling away, Brock stared at him, the atmosphere on a knife’s edge. Everyone still, Rawlins pulled himself up, straightening and brushing his suit.

  “That’s funny,” Brock said. “I don’t remember mentioning my name.”

  Rawlins breathed in, murmuring under his breath and moving over to the drinks trolley where he necked the last of his sherry.

  “Your friend mentioned it, didn’t he?”

  “No,” said Ty, dropping chocolate cake on the floor.

  “Stop behaving like an animal Whatever you’ve got belonging to this ghastly man you’d better return it, or he’ll bring the damn whole government down. One shouldn’t have messed with such a weasel. Things are a complete mess now all because of you, Mr Steele,” said Rawlins, rubbing his face.

  “Look at the state of you, you look as though you have slept in your clothes for weeks, you stink, you are disgusting from top to bottom. How dare you enter my beautiful home in this state? Now put that pathetic gun away.”

  Silence erupted. Rawlins murmured something else but Brock was rooted to the spot. He felt as though something big had whacked him hard in the stomach. Rawlins poured himself another sherry and then beckoned them both towards him. Ty staggered towards a drawer, pulling out a bread knife.

  “That won’t do you both any good either,” said Rawlins.

  Brock tightened his grip on the pistol. “Tell me what’s really going on. I need Sarah and I cannot stand this any more.”

  Rawlins sighed, rubbing his brow,

  “Give me your Rolex or I’ll stab you,” said Ty.

  “Oh, stab me if you want to. Doubt a little boy like you got the guts,” said Rawlins, taking a glug of sherry and pulling the Rolex watch from his wrist, throwing it across the floor. “Here, take it, animal. This weasel Sighrus is very well connected. He’s got the right friends in government—and indeed out of government. Anyone tries to stop his vicious antics, they end up like you.”

  “Me? And what did I do?” said Brock.

  Rawlins shook his head and then necked the remainder of the sherry.

  “You mean you don’t know? Of course not, because he whacked your head so hard, he crippled you. You shouldn’t have rattled his cage. You’ve opened up a big black hole.”

  “So it was him.”

  “And you think knowing that will do you any good? Not with a man like Sighrus. You’re already a massive person of interest, wanted for murder. He’s attending a conference tomorrow at 11 a.m., an annual national security event for the police, government, and security services. He’ll be there taking all the damn credit while the attendees lap him up.”

  “Where can I find it?” said Brock, stepping nearer and tightening his grip on the pistol. “Tell me where it is or I will blast a bullet into your head right now.”

  “Put the wretched gun down,” croaked Rawlins. “Come into my library and I’ll give you the details, but on one condition.”

  Brock lowered the gun.

  “You place a bullet from your gun into Sighrus’s skull.”

  Brock gave him an incredulous stare and Rawlins stared coldly back into Brock’s eyes.

  “I’m being deadly serious. If you have your sights on seeing Sarah alive, you’ll do it. Follow me.”

  He led them both through the kitchen and through a door into a room filled to the brim with books stacked on dark wooden shelves. Thick Oxford and Cambridge editions of great works bulged out at the top.

  As Rawlins reached up towards one of the wooden shelves, Brock’s gaze caught a memo sitting neatly on one of them. Rawlins passed a paper folder towards Brock and snatched up the note.

  “Those papers in the folder are the architectural plans of the building at the South Conference Centre at the side of the River Thames. I want you to finish that rattlesnake off for good, my lad.”

  Chapter 20

  Dewdrops glistened on the grassy landscape like sparkling diamonds. Ty and Brock spent the cold, merciless night sprawled in the Mini, hidden between silver birch trees and tall brambles. Brock leaned back into the headrest, trying to remember a past he’d no knowledge of—and it annoyed him. He had left the Mini a couple of times during the night, stretching his legs and surveying the area for trouble. The mobile he’d mysteriously acquired was safely off and placed in the glovebox; he’d checked, several times.

  Ty was still snoring to his heart’s content, and Brock slipped his sleeve up to glance at his new Rolex watch he had snatched from Rawlins. It was six in the morning. Yanking at the door handle, he pushed the door open, jumping onto the peaty floor below. He wandered towards the road, keeping hidden, and peered through the trees. Cars slammed past, engines at full throttle heading to their destination. He was restless. Nothing Rawlins said to him yesterday made any sense, nor Lady Ranskill the day before.

  Rolling his hand into a fist he thumped into a tree, its leaves falling across his face. He pondered the thought of putting some bullets into Sighrus’s head and something suddenly occurred to him. Flicking a leaf off the top his head, he paced back towards the Mini. Ty’s eyes flew open as Brock wrenched open the door.

  “Still going to gate-crash this conference?” he asked. “You’re crazy. Security will snap you up in minutes. It’s too high profile. But you still wish to kill him, right?”

 
“That’s why I’m not going. Old Rawlins seemed to have an agenda against Sighrus. He was clearly scared stiff. He’s probably alerted all and sundry now. He was most likely trying to bring me to Sighrus to save his skin. Rawlins cannot be trusted. I have another idea to get Sarah back.”

  Ty banged his head back on the headrest.

  “It was freezing during the night,” Brock continued. “I hardly slept a wink. We might need to find some sort of squat for tonight.”

  “Ah, otherwise engaged. Promised I’d meet my bird tonight. She called me on last night and I ought to go.”

  “You’re leaving me?”

  Ty paused and cleared his throat. “I think you’re in the middle of something too big. I picked that much up back at Rawlins’ place. That man is supposed to be running the security of Britain and he’s as dodgy as a goose’s arse.”

  “A goose’s arse? But you’re—right something’s going on there and I reckon old Rawlins is in it up to the neck. A couple of high-ranking government officials have resigned recently. I saw it on a memo on the old guy’s desk yesterday. Worse, one was discovered murdered. Figured it might make it easier for me to bargain with Sighrus, grab Sarah, and do one.”

  “How exactly?”

  “I’ve got something of his he desperately needs it, trust me. Whatever is going on in government, you can bet Sighrus is involved. Messing with me would create more problems for him. He wants my USB, and I’m supposed to have it in my possession. He’s obsessed about it, enough so to be pretty stupid and go to careless lengths to retrieve it. The problem is, I don’t know where I put it. Luckily that maniac doesn’t know that.”

  Ty slammed his hand on the steering wheel and sighed. “And you knew about this all the time?”

  “Don’t panic, I have a plan,” said Brock, scratching his head.

  Ty rolled his eyes. Both their stomachs rumbled then, and Ty insisted popping to a local shop nearby to grab food and coffee.

  On his return, his arms were full to the brim with about half a dozen croissants and two paper cups of strong lukewarm coffee. They necked them down quickly, shovelling in the tasty croissants. Brock pulled at the glovebox and grabbed the folder Rawlins had thrown to him the day before. He had avoided looking at it until now. He rummaged through its contents and his mouth fell open.