Thankfully the images had dissolved, interrupted by the Raven’s voice as he poked and prodded Ian with his words. Martin tried to focus on what he was saying. Not because he wanted to hear it, but to distract himself from the conflicting emotions that raged inside him. Because the scene he’d just recalled was all the more terrible when he thought of how badly his mother had treated him as a child. He’d been pushed aside, especially after Colin was born. Pushed aside, but not forgotten. Deliberately avoided. Was it so she could focus on her other needs?
For more years than he could remember, he had pretended that he was hardened to it, that he didn’t care. But a child’s rejection by his parents does affect him, and the pain never goes away.
“She has used you,” he heard. “She deserves to pay for what she has done.”
The words were about Tanya, but they felt so relevant to his mother. Yes she does, he thought. And so do the rest of them. He had come home because he felt the dream was calling him. But he’d also hoped there could be some reconciliation. Now he knew the only thing that would give him satisfaction was revenge. Ostracised and abandoned, his departure greeted with indifference, that was no way to treat your own child. He deserved better than that. Especially from a whore and a husband who stood by and let her get on with it.
“You might as well give in to it.”
Again the words were aimed at Ian, but Martin accepted them himself. It was time to do what he should have done years ago. His rage was becoming a steely determination to make his family pay for the pain they’d caused him. Each and every one of them.
Then Ian was pushing past him and shouting at the Raven, the shove breaking Martin’s train of thought for a moment. He didn’t really care any more what happened here. Tanya and Ian weren’t his problem. He just wanted to get out and pay a visit to the family cottage. Even the sight of Ian flying backwards as if he’d been picked up and thrown by an invisible giant didn’t affect his dedication to the job he wanted to complete.
He stepped forward, and the Raven’s head snapped in his direction. Martin stopped. For some reason, he’d assumed the Raven would sense his purpose and would support it. After all, he was here to cause chaos and mayhem. Anything Martin had planned would only add to that. But the dark eyes glittered with hatred and malevolence, his expression leaving Martin in no doubt that he had better remain where he was.
Behind him, he heard a series of thuds as Ian’s body landed on the floor.
Apparently satisfied that Martin wasn’t going anywhere, the Raven returned his gaze to a point on the other side of the room.
“Do not bother with him.” Although he hadn’t been aware of any other movement, Martin realised Tanya must be with Ian. He didn’t look back to confirm it. Instead, he remained focused on the Raven. “He will be dead soon enough. As will you be.” The long dark hair swayed slightly as he turned his head to look back at Martin. “As will your family, Mr Gates. Tonight we will finish what we started.”
Martin opened his mouth to speak. Part of him wanted to protest. He wanted to deal with his family. To let someone else kill them would only deprive him of the opportunity he was craving. But another part of him wanted to know what the Raven meant. What had been started that needed finishing?
As he hesitated, uncertain which of these ideas needed to be vocalised first, there was a crashing noise from downstairs, followed by the sound of excited voices.
Seven
Adam had parked the Land Rover a quarter of a mile down the track. Its dark green paintwork blended well with the trees he’d pulled in between. From there, they’d continued on foot until they were within sight of the farmhouse yard. Then Collins was on his own. Claire had made it very clear on the ride over that they would only step in as a last resort. And bearing in mind that she had previously indicated his life might have to be sacrificed, he couldn’t help wondering just how bad things would have to be for them to consider it necessary to show themselves.
True to her word, Claire had told him very little. If anything, he felt there were even more pieces missing from the jigsaw than he’d previously thought. And there was a major credibility gap. As a man who dealt in facts and evidence, her claim that they had just returned from France when he saw them emerge from the barn seemed far-fetched. Sure enough, it had been empty when he had been in there only minutes earlier, but that didn’t mean to say that he hadn’t overlooked some hidden door or hatch that might have led to a basement of some kind.
She admitted her reluctance to reveal this to him on the basis that she didn’t think he’d believe her. But then she’d gone on to say that the presence of a portal – she’d actually used that word – in the barn was nothing compared to the supernatural powers possessed by the man who had stolen the bomb.
At which point he’d wanted to know how she was aware of the bomb. More had been revealed. The fact that they’d asked Martin to help them and, when he found the stolen van, they’d gone to Forest Farm to inspect it before the police had been called. And that Ian had been to visit them with an update after returning from the police station that afternoon. That surprised him. Of the three people he’d interviewed today, Ian McLean seemed like the most trustworthy. He would have been the last person he’d have expected to pass on everything he’d learned during the course of the day.
It was Ian’s visit that had prompted them to return to the Refuge – whatever that was. They had reported everything they’d learned and sought guidance from their colleagues. Not that she’d disclosed what that guidance was to Collins. Instead she’d tried to impress upon him how important it was to be wary of the man they called the Raven.
The yard was barely illuminated. Cracks of light from behind curtains added almost as much as the dim glow from the lamp outside the kitchen door. Shadows shifted under a low breeze. Beyond the house itself, there was more light. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the old barn where they’d found the van. That was at odds with his own understanding of the Army’s game plan. He’d been led to believe they were going to leave a small force there. But, on the off-chance that the people responsible might come back, that force was going to be discreet. They didn’t want to scare them off. The brightness of the lights suggested they’d given up on that idea.
He decided he’d be better off if he was close to the house. If anyone was to suddenly appear, he would be less visible there. As he moved diagonally across the yard in that direction, he heard a rustling noise above him, and looked up. Along the rooftop he could see the silhouettes of what looked to be dozens of birds.
The McLeans’ vehicles were parked on the other side of the back door. Their shapes weren’t very clearly defined, but well enough for him to know he was unlikely to bump into them. He made his way along the wall until he reached the kitchen door. The window was a couple of feet beyond, and a subdued glow around the edge of the curtains told him the light was on. He waited, watching carefully for any sign of movement inside. A minute passed very slowly. The second minute went slower still. He knew that might still not be long enough, but he was impatient to move on.
Taking the door handle gently in his hand, he turned it slowly, careful not to make a sound. Though as he eased the door open, he did wonder why he’d bothered to be so cautious.
Eight
“Stay where you are!” the Raven hissed. He glared at the three people in the bedroom as if to underline his words.
Satisfied for the moment that they weren’t going anywhere, he stepped backwards out on to the landing. His movements were cautious. Not because he was afraid, or because he was concerned about forewarning the new arrivals that he was on to them. They must have realised that the noise they were making would alert everyone in the house to their presence. It was more that he was surprised. After all, why would anyone be stupid enough to think this was the way to defeat him? There was that, and also he wanted to make sure the occupants of the bedroom stayed where they were, so he was keeping his eyes on them as well as trying to see
down the stairs.
Which he couldn’t. They were too far away. He checked to make sure no one had moved, then turned and strode across the landing.
When he had entered the house, he’d come through the back garden. The door opened into the hallway, a good portion of which was beneath the landing. And that was where the noise seemed to be coming from. He couldn’t see anyone at the foot of the staircase, so he took a step down and leaned over the banister hoping for a better view. As he did, there was a blast of gunfire and the carpet on the landing was shredded, splinters of wood bursting up from it.
Nine
Sergeant Boyd was twenty three. Too young to have fought in the Falklands, or any other major conflict for that matter. Two tours in Northern Ireland had seemed to present him with an opportunity for some action, but contrary to the popular view of the media, only small parts of the country could be classed as truly dangerous. He’d spent most of one tour looking tough with a gun in the city centre because the shoppers needed protecting, and another tour had been spent acting as liaison with the RUC. It had been interesting work, and had no doubt helped him to get his stripes, but he’d never seen any real action.
To find two of his men had been killed was both shocking and – though he’d never admit it to anyone else – exciting. At last he’d have the opportunity for some action. And looking at the state his men had been left in, he was in no doubt that he and the rest of his squad would be facing some stiff competition.
Torrance had still been alive when they’d found him. Fortunately, that had barely lasted long enough for them to watch him gasp and expire. Boyd knew he’d regret thinking it was fortunate later, but the reality was that there had been nothing they could do for him, and to simply watch him suffer would have done no one any good.
So they’d left the two bodies and formed a huddle in the shadows of the outbuildings. His men had looked to him for guidance and he’d quickly begun to formulate a plan. When they’d been left behind, his CO had been satisfied that eight would be enough. Now there were just six of them. The obvious thing to do was to split into pairs and start to search for whoever was responsible for the deaths of their comrades. But whoever was responsible had easily dispatched two men, so pairs might not be such a good idea.
Their best chance was to work as a single unit, though that carried with it the risk that they’d head in the wrong direction. As it was, three pairs would be limited in the scope of their search. But Boyd reasoned that the intention had been to retrieve the van, and with the van no longer there, the murderers – it had to be more than one – must have simply left. Which meant they had almost certainly gone back down the track to the main road.
So that was the plan. Until one of his men noticed a curtain jerking unnaturally in one of the bedroom windows of the farmhouse. His attention had been caught by flashing as the curtain let out spasmodic glimpses of light.
They went in through the garden. The curtain had settled down, and everything seemed to be peaceful. Boyd had hesitated, not sure what to do. If they went charging in now, and it was just the owners participating in some horseplay, it could get very uncomfortable. Not just tonight, but later when the official complaints started coming in. They’d even started backing away from the house as he considered his next course of action. Then they heard a raised voice – “No you fucking won’t!” – followed a moment later by a series of distinct thuds.
Decision made.
The door was locked, of course, so it took them a few moments to break it in. Not as easy as they made it look on the telly, and a lot noisier. Because they didn’t know how many they were up against, Boyd’s tactic was essentially to go in making as much racket as possible. With any luck it would startle and maybe even frighten the people they were after. The fact that they were likely to be terrorists also meant they would use the shoot first and ask questions later approach. He might not have seen any action in Northern Ireland, but he knew damn well that ‘shoot to kill’ was official policy, and he had no qualms about using it now.
Inside, they’d found themselves in a large hallway. The staircase was to the right of them, but they couldn’t see the foot of it because it was facing the wrong way. Overhead, they heard the creak of floorboards. Boyd gestured to two of his men to follow him. He was going for the stairs. In the mean time, he wanted covering, and hopefully they could take a few of the bad guys out at the same time. He pointed to the remaining three, then lifted his finger so it was directed upwards. As he ran for the stairs, the hallway was filled with the roar and chatter of machine gun fire.
Ten
Martin remained standing in the same spot after the Raven moved away from the doorway. He half expected to see the pale face reappear around the door frame to catch him out, and daren’t move immediately. He strained his ears, listening for the creak of footsteps on stairs. If he heard that, he would try to escape. The blast of gunfire came first.
In front of his eyes, the floor erupted, the carpet bursting upwards in spurts that seemed to cover the whole of the landing. If the Raven had been in the line of fire, he’d be dead by now. And if he hadn’t, Martin realised that he wouldn’t be able to get back to the bedroom without being hit by the spray of bullets. He had already worked out that there was only one escape route. Even so, he looked around him, searching for an alternative in that crazy way you do when you aren’t thinking rationally.
Outside the room, the roar from the guns dimmed. He guessed one of them had stopped firing. The volume of shots being fired told him that it must be the Army downstairs. He’d known a group of soldiers had been left behind to watch over the barns. What had brought them in, he didn’t know, and frankly he didn’t care. He was just glad they were here.
There was another blast, though that seemed to come from a point to the right of the doorway rather than below. It didn’t matter. He was moving now, heading for the window.
Tanya was cradling Ian’s head, stroking it with more tenderness than he’d thought she was capable of. His initial thought was to just get out on his own. Although it didn’t feel as urgent as it had a few moments ago, he still had a strong desire to get to his parents’ cottage. They’d treated him like shit since he was a child. He couldn’t let them get away with that. And if he stayed here much longer, he was likely to be caught in the crossfire, which would eliminate any chance of getting his revenge. But seeing Tanya and Ian made him hesitate. Was it really fair for him to just leave them here?
Behind him, the gunfire slackened. He didn’t know it, but magazines were being ejected and replaced. The volume cranked up again, shutting out all other sounds.
“We’ve got to go!” He’d bent down and was shouting into Tanya’s ear.
Her reactions were slow. She seemed to be in a daze, but Martin didn’t have time to be calm and understanding. He gripped her arm and tried to pull her to her feet.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, resisting him.
“Getting us out of here!”
“What about Ian?”
Good question. Martin’s head turned rapidly between the window and the unconscious figure on the floor. If he could get Ian to the window, how was he going to get him out and down to the ground without killing him or – at best – leaving him seriously injured? He let go of her, and headed for the window. A glance at the door told him the Raven was still preoccupied.
The window frame was about eight feet across, and divided into three individual panes of glass. In the centre was a fixed pane, which was maybe five feet wide. On either side of it the other two opened outwards. He opened the nearest one and peered out into the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out that there was a garden. It was predominantly lawn, with flower borders. Paving stones formed a pathway that ran diagonally across the lawn, disappearing into gloom. Directly below was a patio area that extended maybe six or eight feet. There didn’t appear to be any furniture there to cause additional hazard. He estimated the drop to be about twelve feet. If he went ou
t backwards and held on to the ledge with his arms fully extended, his landing would be reasonably safe. Getting an unconscious man out was a different matter altogether.
Somewhere in the house, he heard an agonised scream. The bursts of gunfire stopped. For a moment, he was afraid that the Raven had killed all the soldiers. Then he heard more shots. These were spaced out more, as if they were going for accuracy now rather than spraying bullets indiscriminately. He hoped they were successful, but he doubted it. As if to underline that thought, he heard a strangled cry, closely followed by rapid firing.
Whatever was happening down there, he realised he had to move swiftly. He glanced to his side. Tanya was staring up at him. She still had a dazed look about her, but he could see it was clearing, and with that clarity came fear.
He hesitated a moment, his gaze passing quickly between the open window and the couple on the floor. If he left now, he’d probably get away. He could let the Sentinels know what had happened, and they could decide what to do. It would almost certainly be too late for the McLeans, but there was a bigger picture here. That was how the Sentinels would approach it. But would he be able to live with himself?
Tanya had shown herself to be hard-headed from the first time he’d met her. She was in control of her life and took what she wanted. He’d seen her for what she was straight away. And yet here she was, desperately afraid but clearly unable to leave Ian behind.
Something shifted inside him. Knots had been forming in his stomach. At least, he assumed they must have, because he was suddenly aware of them loosening. Tension eased and interior barriers began to fall away.
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