The Last Stand Down

by Philip J Bradbury

"Come on, our lives could be at stake, Miss Collins!" said Ahmed, looking back and smiling.

  My God, thought Mary, the sod hasn't even broken out in a sweat, as she had, and he wasn't even panting. Such an infuriating man - so resistant when action is needed, so jovial when it's serious and like a blasted robot on steroids. How do these people do this exercise thing, she wondered, it can't be good for them, surely!

  "Oh, Miss Collins, I thought you were with us," said Halee, popping out of a Turkish restaurant in front of her. "Come in here."

  "How the hell did you get... ah ha ah ha ah ha ... get here so quickly?" asked Mary, genuinely perplexed, between her heavy breathing.

  "We did what they call running," said Halee, chuckling. Up at the counter Ahmed was talking rapidly to a young, dark man - obviously not in English. Another older, dark man was summoned and the foreign language discussion started all over again, accompanied by much hand-flapping and head-nodding. So that's how they keep fit, thought Mary, conversation aerobics.

  After some haggling and uncertainty, they were hustled into a small, darkish room through the back of the restaurant and told to sit. It was obvious they weren't to move from there. Mary detected a strange smell wafting through from an adjacent room. There seemed to be low murmurings coming from the room, as if men were quietly talking amongst themselves. Mary looked at Ahmed quizzically as Safak returned to the restaurant. Ahmed seemed to be looking everywhere except at Mary.

  "Ahmed, what's that smell? What's that room there?" asked Mary quietly, holding Sam's briefcase to her chest.

  "Oh, it's ... ah, a den, a smoking room," said Ahmed, smiling uncertainly.

  "So, are they smoking drugs in there, Ahmed?" asked Mary, feeling quite queezy inside.

  "Yes, I think they might be," said Ahmed. "But please keep the noise down, Miss Collins. We're only here because they know me and because I promised we'd be quiet."

  "Oh, sorry," said Mary, looking around uncertainly.

  "Perhaps we just relax a bit, open our minds and let the angels in with an answer," suggested Halee tentatively.

  "The angels? The answer?" asked Mary, now totally confused by the turn of conversation.

  "An answer about what to do next," said Halee.

  "Yes, just as we do, ask Allah for help," said Ahmed. "You ask angels. Perhaps it's similar."

  "You two are bonkers, blooming mad," said Mary sitting back on the wooden chair, hugging the briefcase. "We're being stalked by a bunch of foreigners ..."

  "Kiwis," said Halee.

  "Whoever. We're being stalked and they could be after our lives or Sam's life or something," said Mary, bringing the conversation back to reality. "Look, Ahmed, I don't want to say anything against your religion but this is hardly the time to be talking to God."

  "So, Miss Collins, when do we talk to God? When we don't need Him?" asked Ahmed gently. He looked at Halee and they smiled to each other.

  "Look Miss Collins, we're stuck in this Turkish restaurant and we need to get out and we don't know how or where to go next, safely," said Halee, looking steadily into Mary's eyes. Safak brought a pitcher of water and three glasses and then disappeared as quickly as he'd arrived. "Maybe if we just sit and pray, in our own different ways, something might happen. I don't know ... it costs nothing and, well, what else can we do here?"

  "Praying? You think Allah or God or angels will just lift us out of here or something?" asked Mary, her voice rising as she fought to keep the other two idiots on the ground.

  "Praying does not change Allah, Miss Collins. It changes us," said Ahmed quietly.

  "Oh I give up!" said Mary, exasperated but without an immediate alternative to sitting and wishing on angels. She just wanted to cry. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was working out as it should. She thought of saying the Lord's Prayer to herself and immediately felt embarrassed for some reason. The other two were silent, holding hands with their eyes closed. She put her hands over each of theirs, across the table and remembered all the times she'd asked for God's help and He hadn't delivered.

  "Hey, I know!" said Mary, a little too loudly as the simplest of ideas struck. She wondered why she hadn't thought of it before. "I could call my brother to pick us up and we could stay in the hotel he's at with his two visitors!"

  "Sshhh, Miss Collins, and yes, great idea. Phone him," said Ahmed. "But do try to be quiet. They don't want restaurant patrons to know others are out here. It arouses suspicions as to what else could be going on."

  "Right. I'll call him from the toilet," said Mary.

  Ahmed went through to the restaurant and explained what they wanted to do and that it would help get them out of there. Mary was allowed to go back through the restaurant and into the toilet to call Angus.

  Half an hour later Angus sat in the back, between the two women while Ahmed drove and John Maranui sat in the passenger seat for insurance purposes - he had hired the car but Ahmed knew the London streets better. Two dark men in front and three white people in the back.

  "Och aye, it's so good to see ye though I never thought it would be at midnight on a secret mission of yers!" said Angus with a huge grin.

  "Angus, I've never seen you so excited," said Mary, seeing her brother behaving like a Mexican jumping bean.

  "Oh aye, seems like we fit like ball bearings into whatever groove we find ourselves," said Angus. "Home's a quiet groove, work's a noisy, swearing groove and here ... hey, I don't know. I don't have a groove; it's all new and strange." He chuckled and watched the lights excitedly as they drove by.

  "Aye and it's good to see you too, little brother," said Mary, smiling.

  "Aye, and ye know the technology's amazing here," said Angus. "John let me drive from home, some of the way - gave him a break - and this nat sav ..."

  "Sat nav, Angus," said John, smiling from the front seat.

  "Oh aye, like I said, this nat sav thing here tells you where to go, what side to drive on, when you've stuffed up and what to do when you do ... everything!" said Angus. "It's amazin', just amazin'."

  "Aye, Angus, you're like a kid with a room full of toys," said Mary, grabbing his hand affectionately.

  "So what's with this get-up, Sis?" asked Angus. "Ye've not turned butch on us have ye?"

  "Butch? No of course I haven't!" said Mary, offended. The feelings of losing her femininity - her hair, her dresses, her playfulness - to the world of insurance resurfaced immediately. She had though they had been banished forever, in her busyness and her gruffness but, damn it, they were still there.

  "Ouch, sorry Sis! I didn't mean to offend ye ... just jokin'," said Angus, obviously sensing her discomfort.

  "Ah, it's just this business world - a girl's got to act like a man to make it and, here I am, wearing a bloody suit ... aah, sorry Ahmed, it's a nice suit but I'm not a man," said Mary as Angus held her hand uncharacteristically. "I suppose I just get sick of being in a man's world, in men's clothes, fighting for my life all the time ... or so it seems." She forced a smile between the tears that had started. "I do miss being a girl, doing girly things, being treated like a girl. But then, what's others to do if I ponce around in men's suits?"

  "So what's the suit for?" asked Angus, softly, uncertainly.

  "Ah, well, it's a long story, oh brother of mine, but the short version is that we had to pick up this briefcase from a chap and he didn't want anyone to know who was taking it and so I'm ... Halee and I are in disguise," said Mary, feeling a little calmer. "You see, she doesn't usually dress like a tramp!"

  "A tramp? Miss Collins, more decorum, please!" said Halee, laughing.

  The Mansion Attack

  Tuesday, 13th March 2012, 3.51 p.m.

  Arthur wasn't sure why he felt the need to stop so strongly. "I think we need to stop here, Dominik," he said.

  "But we not there now, Mr Arthur," said Dominik, not slowing down. "Long drive to go yet."

  "Dominik, stop, please Dominik, stop, just here," said Arthur, his anxiety rising.

  "But we not there ..."
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br />   "Dominik, I insist! Stop! Now!" ordered Arthur, unsure how to get through to this large, determined man. "Oh yes, thanks!" he said as the van skidded to a halt on the gravel driveway. Arthur thanked his lucky stars for seatbelts as he was thrown forward.

  "Are you alright back there, love?" asked Arthur as his consciousness expanded from his own little world of survival to that of others.

  "Uh, yes, I think so," said Joan, shuffling and groaning a little in the back. Then he realised someone was rapping on Dominik's window. Dominik lowered the window.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing, stopping like that?" demanded Martin.

  "Martin, sshhh, keep the noise down," whispered Arthur urgently.

  "But you've dented my car. That's just bloody irresponsible ..." said Martin as Dominik grabbed his collar and yanked his head in the car window.

  "Mr Arthur said me to stop. Mr Arthur said you to shut up," said Dominik as if speaking to a child. "We in emergency so you shut up and we fix up car at later time. You understand?"

  "Orghhh," said Martin, trying to speak with a restricted neck.

  "Good! You be quiet and alert and listen to Mr Arthur, hey?" inquired Dominik.

  "Uh, yeah, sorry but ..." said Martin, as Dominik let him go.

  "But sshhh, Martin!" whispered Arthur. "Be quiet and listen ... and look." There were two cars at the mansion as well as two men parading back and forwards. "Can we hide these vehicles here, Dominik?"

  "Yes, behind hedge. Follow me, Martin," said Dominik.

  Martin dashed back to his car and both vehicles were soon concealed from the mansion, behind a hedge just off the driveway. Arthur checked that everyone was ready and, just as they were to move off, another car appeared.

  "That's Amanda!" said Joan, leaping out in front of Amanda's car, waving her to where their cars were parked. Amanda was wearing civilian clothes under a heavy jacket. Arthur wondered whether she had any police equipment under the jacket as Joan explained to Amanda why the police had not been called.

  As Dominik led them on a winding path and behind immaculately trimmed hedges, the maze and from tree to tree, it seemed eerily different, quieter than it had been that morning. Then he realised there were no gardeners around and no machinery noises. They must have stopped work early for some reason. The only sound, apart from his drumming heart and the panting around him, was the crunching of gravel as the two men sauntered to and fro in front of the colonnaded steps in front of the mansion.

  "I think we need to go round the back, Dominik," whispered Arthur as he tapped Dominik on the back.

  "I think this too, Mr Arthur," said Dominik, stopping to confer. Arthur bumped into him and then heard two more oofs as more bumping-into-others occurred down the line.

  "Damn! My glasses!" said Martin, two people behind Arthur.

  "Martin, do be quiet!" whispered Arthur urgently.

  "But they're my Bolé glasses, bloody squashed!" said Martin, quieter now. "Sorry ..."

  "Amanda, can you please come up the front," whispered Arthur, waving her forward.

  "Yes?" she asked as she crept forward.

  "Perhaps you stay just behind Dominik; it might be important for you to identify those chaps over there," whispered Arthur, pointing to the two men in front of the mansion, apparently guarding it. He wondered why he suddenly thought of this. "They may relate to your investigation."

  "Mmm, good thinking, Arthur," whispered Amanda, smiling. Arthur noticed her right hand went to her belt, under the left side of her jacket. He wondered even more about what she might have under that heavy jacket. He shuddered in the warm afternoon sunlight.

  "Everyone else alright?" whispered Arthur, looking back down the line of the smiling, nodding people. Joan seemed to be a little out of breath, wiping sweat from her brow, but he knew about her determination when pushed into a corner. Toby was looking remarkably calm, almost meditative, seemingly untroubled by his trussed-up shoulder. What an interesting bunch of saboteurs, Arthur thought ... The Magnificent Seven came to mind as a name. So did the Seven Swashbucklers.

  "Right, Dominik, let's go," whispered Arthur with unaccustomed authority.

  They started off and, just as quickly, stopped and Arthur realised they'd come to the end of the hedge and they were about to step into the open, with occasional trees dotting the expansive lawn.

  "We need make running to side of house," whispered Dominik. "How we not be seen?"

  "Everyone find stones," whispered Amanda to everyone. "The bigger the better."

  Everyone looked puzzled but Toby and Martin set to picking out flint stones from the perfectly-weeded soil. They came up to her with a handful each.

  "You keep your stones, Martin, and I'll take yours, aah ..." whispered Amanda.

  "I'm Toby," said Toby.

  "Thanks Toby, I'm Amanda," whispered Amanda, smiling and taking his stones. "When I give the word, we'll throw them over there, past those guys, Martin, and then we'll make a dash for the side of the house. Right?"

  Everyone nodded. Martin, a happy, glazed look in his eyes and Amanda, serious and composed, braced themselves.

  "One at a time, quickly, and as far as you can," she whispered to Martin. "One, two, three!" A volley of stones flew over the other side of the park grounds and thudded to the ground. The two guards turned suddenly and rushed towards the sound as the Seven Swashbucklers dashed across the open space and crashed, one by one, against the tall plastered wall of the west side, bumping into each other, smiling and panting like a group of naughty school children.

  Given that anyone with a modicum of common sense will realise that stones landing must have arrived from somewhere not in the sky, the guards quickly surmised which direction these mystery stones flew from. As this realisation took effect, fractionally slower for them than the average toddler, they turned, looked at each other quizzically, pointed in various directions, grunted intelligently and then ran back in the approximate direction from which said stones may have originated. They stopped at the front steps, like returning homing pigeons, uncertain whether to leave their accustomed nest or to venture on. This second option seemed like a good one so they took off again in the same approximate direction they were headed.

  Thankfully, the Seven Swashbucklers had departed this particular spot, thirty seconds before, and they were now dashing along the west wall, trying not to bump into each other, not always with success. They all attempted to follow Dominik's lead, crouching below windows and dodging around topiary trees - again, not always with success as sharp shrubbery impacted with soft skin, bringing forth oomphs and aahs. Soon an alcove presented itself and they followed Dominik into its small, shaded sanctuary, just as the two guards reached the corner of the house. Difficult though it is to pant madly with no sound at all, they all managed it with moderate success as Dominik struggled with the solid oak door with its rusty, medieval ironmongery. Opening the door was relatively easy for a man of Dominik's strength. Opening it quietly was another matter as rust, unaccustomed to moving, screamed its discordance into the sunlit gardens.

  The guards heard the graunch of metal and looked at each other as if to say, with one accord, "Well, do we run after that sound or, like the stones, realise it's a ruse and run the other way?" No immediate answer emanated from God, the gardens or any other source and so they faltered, unable, it seems, to consider the possibility of one remaining and the other investigating the sudden sound. Siamese twins had nothing on these two for synchronised movement.

  These precious moments of indecision gave the alcove-huddlers just the time they needed to squeeze through the small opening Dominik was able to effect and to allow the door to be slammed shut and the inner bolt secured, barring further entry from outside.

  This second creaky slam and lock-sliding confirmed to the sweating security guards that they should investigate quickly. As one, their legs took them across the lawn to the source of the sound, their fine paunches wobbling gracefully ahead of them while, in some remote corner of
their brains, arose the possibility that they were too late and would be in trouble. Footprints - many footprints - scarred the mossy floor of the alcove and the door would not budge.

  Of course, as we all know, there is nothing in this world to fear except that which passes through our minds, kindly termed imagination. Had the guards known what a motley crew (and the small number of said motley crew) they were pursuing, they would have felt quite confident in themselves. However, since said motley crew existed only in their minds, they were very scared and very uncertain. Conjuring up a large group of savage killers, the guards then had to guess whether the consequences of confronting these viscious foes would be worse than the consequences would be from their guv'nor (as they called him) if he discovered their dereliction of duty and let intruders slip through their tight security ... not that big words like dereliction and consequences actually entered the frantic minds of these two men with growing fear and shrieking brains. Their thought processes probably went more along the lines of, "Oh bugger, do we scarper, save getting' our heads busted or do we tell the guv'nor we bin rumbled and then git our heads busted?"

  A further thought may well have been that three weeks in the security industry was quite enough for two long-time supporters of the bar of South Norwood's Hogs Head pub. They weren't men of action but they needed to do something ... anything. So, like homing pigeons in a quandary, they headed home to the front of the building, considerably slower than they had left said building frontage. They were, of course, possessed of mobile phones but were loathe to use them till they had fully weighed up the pros and cons of getting their heads busted as against scarpering to the nearest pub and then looking for a job with more certainty and safety. They finally plumped for sticking to their current job and, after a brief conversation in human terms (but long in Cro-Magnon terms) they decided to continue walking backwards and forwards in front of the big house as if they had not stopped doing it - flying stones and creaking doors had never happened and when (or if) the intruders were found inside, they'd fake surprise with such style they'd be forgiven ... or even promoted. Hope is a wonderful thing.