“Ron was gutted you never wanted back in Alex….none of that matters now” said Rice as the sound of a shot deafened everyone in the room.
Wyre flinched and gripped Oliver even harder as the vision of Richards falling towards them had Wyre cursing in fear and anger. The weight of Richards lay on the two of them had him desperately trying to free himself and Oliver out from underneath to be able to at least defend his son from being murdered. It then dawned on Wyre that the body of Richards was now acting as a protective barrier and Wyre gripped Alex’s jacket to hold him against them. It was then he felt a hand wrap around his wrist and grip it tightly. A few inches away from his face was Richards shaking his head struggling for breathe. As Wyre gasped with shock he felt Oliver being pulled from his clutches by Richards. Before he could react Richards gave him a look he had not seen before. It had Wyre frozen to the spot and unable to protect his son. In one move Richards picked up Oliver off the sofa then Wyre watched as with his free hand he pulled a small pistol out of Oliver’s coat pocket, spun round and while still clutching Oliver shot Rice twice through the head before he even touched the floor. Rice’s men who were stood on the other side of the door burst in but before they had even entered the room Richards had shot through the wooden door and gunned them down before they had even got a shot off.
“Jesus Christ! Oliver! Give me Oliver you bastard!” shouted Wyre but it was all over. Richards was stood now struggling to breathe but still clutching Oliver in one arm and holding his weapon with the other hand.
Wyre stood and snatched Oliver from Richards not believing what he had just witnessed. As soon as Richards realised they were both safe he collapsed onto the floor gasping for air.
“Wyre we need to get Oliver to Dr Montgomery”
Wyre was unsure how to feel as the guy who had just taken out the whole room was now more concerned with getting Oliver to safety and getting the poison out of his system regardless of what physical state he was in. Wyre had also just witnessed something that had him feeling angry towards Richards. The fact he had concealed a weapon in Oliver’s jacket pocket knowing he was going to use it but retrieving the weapon meant possibly putting Oliver literally in the firing line. Still clutching Oliver, Wyre somehow found the strength to help Richards to his feet. He was sure the police would arrive any minute and they had to get Oliver to safety and to Dr Montgomery. As they left in a sulphur filled daze through the door that was now riddled with bullet holes and stepped over the dead bodies, Wyre glanced back at where Bostock and John Rice were lay. He could barely believe they were both dead and maybe now he could believe that this could really be over. The drive back along the M4 to Bristol seemed to pass quickly as Wyre’s mind raced at speed, almost as fast as he was driving. He studied the rear view mirror and the two figures now slumped on the back seat with mixed emotions. One of them was his son Oliver who was almost falling asleep but it seemed he would not allow himself to. For a few seconds his eyes would close, only for them to suddenly open again as though fearful of what he might see. Wyre’s heart ached for the only person left for him to love. Sat next to Oliver was the man who at this moment in time Wyre still had no idea how to feel about. Wyre’s thoughts and feelings about Richards while they were in the apartment returned and his conscience told him to detest the man who was now bleeding from gunshot wounds. The silence in the car gave Wyre time to think and study the man who sat clutching his stomach in a semi- conscious state. First hatred then respect, then disgust, then admiration for a man who never once hesitated in putting his life on the line for a father and son he didn’t even know. As much as Wyre was grateful for all Alex had done there was a side to him he would never understand and never trust.
*
The room was silent apart from the intermittent sound of the transfusion machine beeping. Oliver occasionally stirred with a fidgety leg or arm but the last few days had now caught up with him as his sleeping body was being flushed clean of nitro glycerine. As determined as Wyre was to stay awake and watch his son, the draw of his body needing rest had him sitting in the large armchair next to the window with his head stretched right back and mouth gaped open drawing in oxygen. He had been here before after Oliver had succumbed to his first seizure and it was discovered his blood had been polluted with a substance. A lot had happened since then and during the journey here Wyre wasn’t even sure how this would all end. The door to the room opened and the female doctor quietly entered. She glanced at Wyre who had started to snore mildly and then she checked the tubes going into Oliver’s body. Without making a sound she changed the nearly empty pouch of blood hanging on the hook with a full one that had already been prepared. Leaning in closer she studied his face carefully then left as quickly and as quietly as she had entered. Richards slowly walked down the corridor towards Oliver’s room and watched as the female doctor quietly closed the door behind her and made her way to the next room. Richards, with his arm in a sling and a bandaged torso under his jacket quietly opened the door to Oliver’s room. On seeing Wyre asleep Richards paused at the open door before attempting to leave.
“Is everything ok?” whispered Wyre forcing Richards to re-enter the room.
Richards took a seat next to Wyre and for a few seconds they both sat in silence. They both quietly studied Oliver before Wyre spoke in a hushed tone.
“How are your injuries?” he asked visually checking what he could see of the bandages under Alex’s jacket and through the gap in his shirt collar.
“Oh don’t worry about me Wyre believe me I’ve had worse” replied Richards still staring at Oliver.
Wyre glanced at Richards to try and gage what he might be thinking and to try and weigh up a man he had spent so much time with but hardly knew anything about. He only had rumours to judge him by.
“Has Dr Montgomery spoken to you yet?” whispered Richards.
“About Oliver…….yes he has”
“I’m sorry Wyre”
“As much I have a lot of respect for you Alex I’m afraid Oliver’s battle is something even you can do nothing about. It’s strange because Susan and I had got used to the fact that Oliver was most likely never going to make it to his teens. And yet these past few weeks even though he has been to hell and back and seen things a boy of his age should never see, I have watched him come alive. He wasn’t so tired, had all but forgot about his illness and under the circumstances acted beyond his years. Yes Dr Montgomery told me that for reasons unknown to them the cocktail Bostock pumped into him seemed to slow the process down. It could never cure him but would give him……would give him more time. How does that work Alex? Something concocted and injected into the bloodstream to be used as a trial for a weapon to kill people ends up prolonging someone’s life, a child’s life. It’s ironic don’t you think”
“Montgomery mentioned something about developing the solution to be used in the future”
Wyre smiled and nodded his head.
“My boy will be long gone by then. It was tempting to leave the mixture in him you know Alex but Montgomery warned me that it was too unstable. Seizures and the likelihood of more heart attacks made it too risky. The bastards who took my son, killed my wife and destroyed everything inadvertently found a life extending formula for people with a death sentence”
Wyre looked at Richards pleading for the right answer.
“Is it over Alex? Will I be allowed to watch my son die with dignity?”
Richards didn’t answer but a slight nod of the head was evident.
*
President Assad studied the piece of paper that had just been handed to him by one of his secretaries. It was evident by the small moustache twitching under his nose that he was not happy. He was alone as he read the details regarding the defection of his close friend and advisor Mustafa Sousa. To Assad it seemed incomprehensible that he should do such a thing. At first bewilderment took control then anger as now this changed everything. His confidant had now gone which now left the president questioning not only his
own decisions but those and the advice of Sousa also. Strolling over to the large ornate stone balcony in his office he stared down into the courtyard filled with orange and olive trees. Palace staff, some dressed in traditional Arab dress and others in suits hurried to and from various rooms either side of the yard. Assad was no fool and trusted very few so knew this could be a case of kidnapping by the British Government rather than defection. Most likely though Sousa had been paid off. Either way it left him feeling slightly foolish that he didn’t foretell the situation. On the balcony were hand carved marble ornaments and vases and Assad picked one up and studied it without really looking at it. He spun it around in his hand almost like he was checking the weight of it. With his left hand he rolled the piece of paper up and dropped it to the floor then in one quick movement launched the vase across the courtyard narrowly missing a woman who had been scurrying from one side to the other.
“Sousa you bastard traitor!” he shouted in his native tongue as the vase smashed onto the tiled mosaic floor.
Shouting was heard as people came out from random doorways looking where the vase might have come from. The sight of Assad stood on his balcony two floors above had them quickly disappearing back inside. He hadn’t finished there though. The next object was found and quickly dispatched into a large glass cabinet that ran the whole length of the back wall in the office. The sound was deafening as the heavy sculpture tore through the glass and everything behind it. Voices could be heard hurrying to the office along the corridors perhaps in the hope of preventing more damage and more mess to clean up. Ignoring the knocking at the large wooden door, Assad picked up the phone on the desk and pressed the quick dial buttons for his war cabinet and security services. His next move would have to be precise and brutal but not before showing the western world what his country was all about.
President Assad stood behind the curtain with his protection team looking onto the stage where the last speaker was finishing off her speech. The crowd that had filled the theatre were staunch Assad supporters and they knew he would be walking on stage next to deliver his speech on the current crisis. The atmosphere was building as the girl of about eighteen years of age drew her comments to a close and left the stage to polite but excited applause. Allowing her time to leave the stage, Assad gathered himself and confidently strode into the handpicked arena and stood in front of the microphone and stand. Although the audience could barely contain themselves, the as always smartly dressed president spoke calmly of the human suffering at the hands of terrorists in his and their country. Of how, no amount of pressure from the outside world would force him to abandon his people and let the country go to the hands of the usurpers. For about thirty minutes the crowd kept their emotions at bay until one person, a woman approached the stage clutching a bunch of handpicked flowers and screaming her love for the president. The protection team seemed relaxed and smiled as everyone had been searched and vetted for this event. Soon a group of men approached the stage, some in suits and some in jeans and leather jackets banging their chests, then women came, some carrying children. In front of TV cameras broadcasting to a worldwide audience the stage became almost overrun as people wanted to express their support and love for their brave and loyal leader. Assad laughed and smiled as the theatre quickly became louder and louder with cheers as people rose to their feet to applaud the chosen one chanting words of belief and support. The president could barely be seen now as waves of people were being held back by his security guards who remained friendly but slightly concerned at the crowd just wanting a chance to shake the leaders hand and to show their gratitude. He waved and smiled at the adoration being shown by his people and hoped, but secretly knew the western world and their leaders would see this loving and emotional speech by him and the reaction and backing shown by his fellow men and women. As he was shown off the stage people could be seen breaking down into tears, overcome with emotion at just being in the same room as him, waving their hands frantically in his direction as a show of dying devotion chanting his name. For the moment his work was done and this show of defiance would send a message to western leaders and the UN that he would not be as easy to remove as other, older less confident and guilty oppressors.
*
David Cameron had just put his jacket on to leave as he watched the images of president Assad being mobbed and worshipped in a theatre somewhere in Syria on the BBC news 24 channel. A slight nod of the head could be seen as he studied the screen.
“Do you think the people of Britain would react like that to me in the same situation?” asked Cameron almost envious.
His aide never responded as he picked up his briefcase and headed for the door to the car waiting outside. They were heading for a meeting to discuss the Syrian situation when Cameron was handed a fax that contained a message that had him frowning and rubbing his hand through his hair.
“Both Rice and Bostock are dead?” he queried.
“Yes sir” replied the messenger.
Are their replacements on standby?”
The messenger nodded.
“Any sign of Alex Richards and the father and son?”
“No sir!”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Do you want us to bring them in sir?”
Cameron paused for a few seconds before shaking his head.
“No let it go this is bigger than them. The wheels are in motion so one can do anything about it now so forget it. We know where they will be if we need to find them”
And as quick as that Wyre, Oliver and Richards no longer had a death sentence over them. The body count had piled up and many a life had been ruined but now for the time being they wouldn’t be looking over their shoulders. As Cameron was about to walk away he turned to the guy with the fax in his hand, moved closer towards him and mumbled in his ear.
“Is she aware of what has happened?”
“Yes sir she’s been following closely. She was in contact with Rice in the apartment. She gave the order to eliminate Bostock” said the guy mumbling back.
“Good!”
“But she seems to have disappeared off the radar sir. Nobody knows where she is”
Cameron looked concerned, the frown on his face growing larger then nodded and disappeared out through the door and climbed into his waiting car. He was confident the Syrians would be in touch very soon that’s if the United Nations didn’t beat them to it.
Chapter 26
Alex Richard’s arm was out of its sling but he still wore the bandages around his waist as his gunshot wounds continued to heal. Turning the car engine off Alex sat in silence and watched the nursing home for a while. It was a quiet place just on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells overlooking woodland and fields. The home was a huge manor house that still looked like it was lived in by a lord or a dignitary with the immaculate gardens and ornate stonework still in perfect condition. His research and recollections of Wyre’s conversations had led him here and he studied the odd person going in or coming out of the house. Wyre knew nothing about this visit as Alex just wanted to be thorough and make sure every stone had been turned. He entered through the large wooden and glass doors and approached the reception area where he was greeted by young man in a shirt and tie.
“Good afternoon sir and how can I help?”
“Hi I’m looking for a Mrs Gwendolyn Smith”
“And can I ask who you are sir?” said the young man smiling at Alex politely.
“I’m a friend of Susan Davis, Mrs Smith’s granddaughter”
The young guy stared at Alex almost confused at the question then proceeded to walk from behind the reception and shake Alex’s hand.
“Sorry sir what did you say your name was?”
“Mr Richards”
“Ok Mr Richards if you would like to follow me”
Alex followed the guy across the reception area to a corridor which in turn led to a series of comfortably furnished rooms. The guy showed him in then explained that somebody would be with him shortly. No soon
er had he started to look through the blinds into the gardens outside, the door opened again and there stood an older woman with a young nurse by her side.
“Mr Richards?”
“Yes Hi I’m Alex”
“Hello I’m Mrs Jones and this is nurse Rogers. My colleague tells me you have come to visit a Mrs Gwendolyn Smith” said the elder lady now known as Mrs Jones.
“Yes that’s right”
Richards noticed the both of them seemed slightly uncomfortable about something but he remembered he was there as a friend of the family and not a detective and not as Alex Richards. He let them fumble their words out until Mrs Jones gathered herself and spoke the words regretfully.
“I’m sorry Mr Richards but I have to tell you with regret that Mrs Smith passed away two days ago. It was of course a bit of a surprise because as you know even though Gwendolyn was suffering from dementia and getting worse by the week we were expecting her to last a few more months especially as health was reasonable, it was her mind that was struggling. Her health fluctuated of course but she needed twenty four hour care. A lovely lady and she will be missed here by all the staff”
Alex listened to what the two were saying thinking that maybe this time, his thoroughness had uncovered nothing untoward. These people seemed genuine and to him it seemed that maybe the old woman had passed away innocently, her health getting the better of her. Happy that perhaps Bostock and his goons had not involved Susan’s grandmother in their depraved plan he thanked the two members of staff then stood to leave.
“Thank you very much for your time” said Alex shaking their hands.
“It’s no problem Mr Richards and again we’re so sorry Susan didn’t tell you about the sad news”
BEYOND THE SPRING Page 29