THE FERAL
BY DAVID ELIAS JENKINS
Copyright © 2014 All Rights reserved.
1.
London.
8. 05 am. Present day
The morning the monsters came out in daylight.
The aircraft warning light flashed atop the pyramid roof of One Canada Square, in the financial heartland of London.
Swathes of financiers, newspapermen and support staff were emerging from the escalators of Canary Wharf Underground station into the rain, carrying umbrellas above their heads. From high in the tower they appeared just a huddled collection of black circles branching off into their respective offices.
Corporal Isaac Marlowe of the Special Threats Group, the newest and least disclosed regiment in the United Kingdom’s Special Forces, stood on the thirty second floor and took a deep drag of his cigarette as he stared at the rain rolling down the window.
He was not used to being kept waiting.
To think he had flipped a coin with Usher over who would take the lead on this corporate task. A coin toss! Now he was talking to these stuffed suits while Usher was on Ops in Oman getting a suntan.
He rolled his shoulders and craned his neck against the starchy material of his suit. Isaac was more at home in his fatigues and combat boots, a Bergen slung over his back and a few kilos of metal propped against the crook of his shoulder. Lean and dark, his face had the lived-in lines of a man who had spent too many nights hunched down in the cold deserts of faraway lands.
Despite his military bearing, Isaac had been born into one of the most notorious families in England, to a life of thievery, ignorance and vice. By the time he was seven his extended family were sending him out to pickpocket and shoplift, his childhood regarded as no more than a useful distraction technique to acquire loot. As he grew up in the family home, surrounded by screaming babies and stolen goods, he would often sneak off into a quiet corner with a book, something pilfered from the local library.
The day he turned sixteen, his father tried to burn his books out in their rubbish strewn back yard.
Isaac calmly watched him do it, and then proceeded to beat his father with a quarter concrete paving slab until the old thief cried like a baby and screamed that Isaac was disowned and never to darken his door again.
Then it was off to the army recruiting office to begin his long slow climb out of the gutter. That climb eventually took him places he could never have imagined. Today for example, he was in the waiting room of the CEO of one of the world’s richest companies, dressed like an absolute Rupert.
And still waiting.
Suddenly the door opened behind him and a woman of about fifty wearing red framed glasses clipped up to him on her heels with robotic efficiency.
“Mr Marlowe is it? There’s no smoking in here.”
Marlowe stubbed out his cigarette in the dregs of his coffee and nodded.
“Yes, my appointment was for seven thirty. Half an hour ago. Thought if I fogged the place out I might get some attention.”
The personal assistant looked at him as if it was ridiculous that he expected to see her boss at the time arranged. In Isaac’s world, when you said you’d be a certain place at a certain time, you got there no matter what. Failure to do that meant people could die.
“Yes, I am aware of that, but his morning briefing went on longer than expected. Please allow me to take your coat.”
“No thanks.”
“I’m sorry?”
Isaac smiled politely.
“I’ll hold on to it.”
The PA sniffed and ushered him towards the office doors.
The office Isaac walked into was chrome and cold. Behind the desk sat a man that seemed to have been made from the spare office materials. Grey hair, blue eyes, grey suit with blue shirt and tie.
He stood up and extended his hand to the chair opposite the desk. He carried himself with the air of a man who was used to others doing as he asked.
Isaac shook his hand and sat down. The man gave him a brief smile and addressed him in clipped public school tones.
“Mr Marlowe? I’m Peter Chambers.”
“Yes that’s right. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Can I offer you something to drink?”
“I’m fine thank you. Had coffee.”
“Fine, that’s fine then. So…”
The two men sat opposite each other in a few moments of silence. Then the older businessman let out a small chuckle and poured himself a glass of water from a decanter on his desk.
“You must excuse me, I find all this cloak and dagger stuff very fascinating. We have had advisors from the security services here before of course. Last fellow was a couple of years ago, from that lot of yours, the Centre for the er…”
“Centre for the Protection of National Infrastructure.”
“That’s right. Chap came to advise us on cyber security and business continuity type stuff. I’ll be honest, the young lad was one of these computer boffin types, geeks I think they call them nowadays. He looked as if he should have been wearing short trousers.”
“Why?”
“I mean, what I mean is that he looked like he was still in school, he looked young.”
“I see. I’m not from the CPNI as such, although we do work closely with them. May I?”
Isaac held up a packet of cigarettes.
Mr Chambers waved his hand. “Yes of course, I enjoy a cigar myself, but the wife doesn’t like it since I had a heart scare last year. Damn foolish really, I have two hundred and three staff in the London office alone that cower when they see me, yet I still drown myself in Aramis before walking in the front door of the house lest my good lady reprimand me.”
Isaac lit up a cigarette, took a single draw, and then placed it in the crystal ash tray on the desk, watching it slowly burn down like a primitive egg timer. He furrowed his dark brow and addressed Chambers.
“In my experience most people have situational confidence Mr Chambers. Strong within familiar environments. I’ve seen twenty years police officers shake in their boots at the very thought of having to deliver a wedding speech. Take people out of their comfort zone, everything changes. ”
Mr Chambers smiled at this. “Yes, quite. So what’s your area of expertise Mr Marlowe? I must admit I was a little taken aback at being contacted, particularly by a man named Marlowe, eh.”
“Why would my name bother you Mr Chambers?”
Chambers peered at Isaac, seemingly unsure if he were joking.
“Marlowe wasn’t it? The ghost of Scrooge’s old business partner in a Christmas Carol. Wouldn’t be the first time someone on my staff had called me Scrooge. When my PA told me there was a Spook named Marlowe here to see me, I had horrible visions of chains rattling and the ghosts of my past coming back to visit me.”
“That was Marley. Jacob Marley. Although I suppose your concerns wouldn’t be a million miles from the truth.”
Chambers took a nervous sip and chinked his glass down on the desk. “That sounds rather ominous. We haven’t had any bomb threats here for a good while.”
Isaac raised his eyebrows and leaned back a little in his chair.
“Oh there are bomb threats all the time Mr Chambers, it’s just that the security services stop ninety nine per cent of them before they ever get off the ground. People rarely even hear about them.”
Isaac smiled politely. “It’s not a bomb threat.”
Chambers looked inwards for a moment, then sagged ever so slightly in his chair.
“I was working in an office just over the way there in ninety six, when the IRA tried to take us out last time. Couldn’t sleep for a week. Could have been so much worse.”
Nowadays he fought nightmares.
Chambers curiosity was piqued now.
“Look Mr Marlowe, I know you are limited in what details you can give me, but my primary concern is for the wellbeing of my staff and the continuation of our business. People might think me a servant of Mammon, but if our financial institutions crumble, it has a very real effect in the world and people’s lives and livelihoods are lost, as has been seen in recent years during these hard financial times.”
Isaac smiled.
“I know you’re not a servant of Mammon, Mr Chambers. If that had been my intelligence briefing this morning, we would be having quite a different conversation.”
As Isaac leaned over to pick up his cigarette, his jacket fell open a little, revealing a covert holster holding a Sig Sauer 9mm automatic pistol. Whether it was intentional or not, the gesture was a punctuation that was not lost on Chambers.
The older businessman straightened up in his chair, suddenly feeling very much out of his comfort zone.
“Look Mr Marlowe, if there is a threat to this building then I need as much information as possible. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you look more like a soldier than a computer expert. Where exactly is this threat coming from?”
This was the bit Isaac hated.
The bit where a relatively ordinary conversation took a very sharp odd-ways turn. It was a difficult one to broach with those who had not yet had the Veil lifted. That was what they called it in the particular branch of the Ministry of Defence he worked for when someone had their first experience of the bizarre. Isaac had learned to recognize it in others over the years, even strangers he passed in the street. A disturbed, haunted look in people who had seen some horror they could never explain. People who desperately wanted to un-know.
There was plenty Isaac wished he could unlearn. He saw that haunted look in the mirror every morning.
“Mr Chambers, I understand that your bank has had dealings with an international organization called the Chromium Project.”
Chambers ruffled a little at this.
“I’ll stop you there Mr Marlowe, my dealings with the Chromium Project are currently a matter of investigation by the financial ombudsman, the Ministry of Defence Police fraud squad, and our own Metropolitan Police. I’m sure the security services are well aware that our bank acted in good faith and are beyond reproach in this matter. However as the investigation is not concluded I cannot comment further on it. Perhaps this would be better dealt with through my solicitors. I assume you’re aware of who our solicitors are?”
“Yes I am, but your solicitors are no protection from this threat. Whether you were aware during your financial dealings with them that the Chromium Project makes chemical and biological weapons is a matter for the courts, and not my concern here today. Did you ever meet with the Chromium Project’s CEO, Mr Isaiah Argent?”
Chambers stood up and walked towards the window, staring at the rain pelting down. The lights of a few distant aircraft could be seen flashing in the gloomy London sky.
“Once or twice maybe. His company has a mansion down in Kent that a few colleagues and I attended a function at last February. Beautiful place. I’d heard that he was very reclusive and that almost no one gets to meet him. I can understand why the security services got interested in his company Mr Marlowe, but we were not knowingly laundering any money for him. We withdrew all involvement once we realized the nature of his business. We couldn’t have known. They seemed like a reputable pharmaceutical company, we couldn’t have known.”
“But you met with Argent briefly? How did you find him? As a man I mean.”
Chambers poured himself vodka from a minibar next to the window, took a sip, winced, and then shrugged. His hand was shaking slightly.
“Eccentric fellow to be honest. Not the sort of executive character I’m used to dealing with. He was more like, how to explain it, more like a religious sort than a businessman. Like the leader of one of those cults, Scientology or whatever. Not really my cup of tea. So as I say, we pulled all funding, froze all assets, and to my mind severely dented his company. This should in itself prove that we are beyond reproach.”
“You did dent his company. That’s why they have put out a contract on you. Their version of a fatwa if you like. Your life is in serious danger.”
“A fatwa! My God man, so that’s what this is about? I’m the CEO of a major international bank for Pete’s sake, I can’t be expected to go into hiding like Salman Rushdie, having a coronary every time the doorbell rings. What are these people really then? Extremists? Some kind of anarchists?”
Isaac blew out a trail of silver smoke. There was no easy way to say this, and he was no diplomat, so best just spit it out. He was after all only here because of a coin toss with that lucky bastard Usher.
“Nothing like that I’m afraid, nothing so tame. I’m sorry to say Mr Chambers that you are a sort of modern day Dr Faustus. You’ve made deals with a Devil and now he’s coming to collect his debts. Their organization, their wider organization and true face I mean, is called the Unseelie Court. You won’t have heard of it. It’s a very old and very dangerous secret society and has agents all across the world. Right now you’re top of their hit list. I’ve been sent to warn you, offer you advice, and help maintain your security measures.”
Chambers was visibly shaken.
“A secret society? What are they, some kind of Freemasons or something? I should have known. I’ve always had such good business instinct. I should have bloody well known there was something amiss with these bastards. Oh God my wife, will we have to go into hiding or something? My two boys are at Eton, and my youngest is only seven, I can’t disrupt their schooling. What do you mean he’s a devil? What on Earth are these people involved in? What security measures can I take? How the hell can I possibly protect myself against these lunatics?”
Chambers poured himself another glass of vodka and downed it with shaky hand, and then he stood there staring out the window, his lips moving as he chastised himself for being so stupid.
Isaac stubbed out his cigarette and straightened his tie.
“By devil, I mean he is literally a devil, in the Demonic sense. What they are involved in is the proliferation of biological weapons, both natural and supernatural, with the express intent of bringing humanity to its knees. What you can do to protect yourself is really outwith my area of expertise, but we will provide you with a lab geek, shorts optional, who can advise you on a number of sigils, wards, magical artefacts etc. that I know from experience offer excellent protection against supernatural elements. Other than that, in my own humble opinion and to most people’s surprise, from years of dealing with such things I’ve found lots of bullets to be very effective.”
Isaac extended his finger and thumb and mimed cocking a handgun.
Chambers slowly turned around, staring at Isaac then glancing around the room as if expecting a hidden camera team to emerge, followed by his PA pointing at him and mouthing gotcha!
“Excuse me?”
Isaac looked sheepishly down at the desk, nodding slightly and smiling inwardly.
“Yes, this is the awkward bit. Now we can go through the whole re-showing you my credentials, you thinking it’s a joke, you telephoning my superior, trying to throw me out your office, but the end result is always the same. Mr Chambers, I have seen this organization do things that belong in a medieval torture chamber to children as young as your youngest, who’s seven you say. Now I know that taking away people’s ignorance as to what is really out there is like stripping the scab off a wound, but there it is. There are means to confirm all this of course, to e
vidence what I’m telling you, and that is being arranged, but I really didn’t think it would be appropriate to bring an imp or a vampire or some such thing into your office today to demonstrate my sincerity. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“Trust you? My dear fellow you sound like an absolute fucking fruitcake. I’ve a good mind to call security and have you removed.”
Isaac stood up, smoothed down his suit.
“I understand. I really do. I’ve dealt with this stuff for so long it’s hard for me to see it from your side. Even if you put everything I’m saying down to hocus pocus and gobbledegook, at least take the threat to your family seriously. Give me the benefit of the doubt and come with me, somewhere safe, where I can demonstrate my claims.”
Chambers moved over and put his forehead on the window, the glass taking the feverish sweat off his brow. He took several long breaths and closed his eyes. Isaac watched him and lit another cigarette. He knew from experience, people dealt with it in all sorts of ways. Chambers seemed like he was hiding something though, he wasn’t as incredulous as Isaac had expected. Chambers put the palm of one hand on the window. When he removed it a print of condensation was left.
In a quiet voice he spoke.
“I knew something wasn’t right. When we were in Kent, I saw things, put it down to the champagne, but I knew, I knew it wasn’t.”
“Denial is quite common, reshaping memories until they are acceptable, you’re not alone in that.”
“It’s just that, I didn’t want to….oh dear lord…Mr Marlowe….Mr Marlowe come and look at this!”
Isaac watched the growing horror in Chamber’s face for a few moments before he heard the explosion outside. He shot up out of his chair and looked out of the window to the pavement below.
A plume of smoke was rising from the Starbucks kiosk in the square. People were running and falling, some lay still on the pavement. Then Isaac saw figures moving amongst them, saw the muzzle flashes and heard the report of automatic weapons. Umbrellas were tearing and blowing away like dry leaves as the rounds tore into the terrified public. Isaac saw a group of men dressed in combat fatigues moving tactically as a single unit, fanning out and mowing down anyone who came across their path.
The Last Line Series One Page 1