He watched a group of middle eastern youths gather round the pool table and set up the balls in readiness for a game. Four girls on the other side of the hall pointed in his direction and giggled.
‘Excuse me, mate,’ said one of the pool players, who was taking a long shot at the blue ball hanging over the bottom right pocket. ‘Would you mind moving to one side for a minute?’
Jack shifted his bar stool, allowing the player to lean across the table and tee up his next shot.
One of the four girls who had been staring at Jack from the other side of the room walked towards him. She was wearing a tight mini-skirt and blouse that accentuated her hefty physique.
‘Have you got a match, love?’
Jack blushed and stammered his reply. ‘I, er, left ’em at ’ome.’
‘You’re Jack Jardine, aren’t you?’
‘Aye,’ Jack stared at the floor, unable to meet her gaze. He noticed she was wearing outlandish high-heeled shoes.
‘You went out with Helen Jackson, didn’t you?’
‘Aye.’
‘Well, Helen’s me cousin and she told me you’re a complete psycho.’ The three girls in the corner giggled once more while the overweight girl planted a wet kiss on Jack’s cheek. ‘But if you ever need a real woman to show you how it’s done, give me a call, pretty boy.’ She tucked a folded piece of paper into his shirt pocket. Jack burned with shame at the insult and his overactive mind was unable to summon a retort.
‘Leave him alone, Sharon. His uncle just died,’ said one of the middle eastern boys at the pool table. He put down his cue and walked over to Jack. ‘Are you all right, mate? We’re sorry about your uncle. I’m Jamal and this is my brother, Tariq.’ He indicated his playing partner, who handed Jack his cue. ‘And over there are Omar and Rashid. Do you want to join us for a game?’
Jack nodded. ‘How d’you know me uncle died?’ He tried to rub the smear of bright red lipstick off his cheek, and glanced at Sharon tottering her way back to the corner in her six-inch heels.
‘The youth club manager told us and asked us to watch out for you.’
Jack nodded a greeting at Jamal’s snooker opponents.
‘Okay, partner,’ said Jamal. ‘Which ball should I go for next?’
‘The green ’un. Then you’ve got a clear shot at red ’un opposite.’
Jamal shifted his aim to the ball nestling near the centre-right pocket. He hit the cue ball and the green cannoned into the pocket. Sure enough, it set the cue ball up for an easy shot at the red in the opposite pocket.
‘Where’re you from?’ Jack asked Jamal.
‘Birdwell.’
‘Aye, but before then?’
Jamal laughed. ‘Our parents were from Egypt but we were born here.’
‘We’re as local as roast beef and Yorkshire pudding,’ joked Omar. The boys seemed a year or two older than Jack, but sparkled with friendliness and vitality.
‘How about you take on Jamal next game and win yourself ten pounds?’ said Rashid.
‘I ’aven’t got ten quid,’ Jack said. He blushed and offered Tariq his cue back.
‘It’s all right. I’ll cover you,’ Rashid said.
Jack bounded over to the side of the table, chalking the end of his cue as he went. He hit the cue ball hard and split the reds neatly. One of the red balls dropped into the bottom left pocket.
‘Nice one,’ said Jamal.
Jack lined up his next shot, but was interrupted by a commotion at the main door. Four burly policemen leading a snarling Alsatian entered the youth centre. The room went silent as the youth club members cast hostile glances at the incoming police.
‘Please stay where you are,’ yelled the sergeant. ‘We have reasonable grounds to suspect a quantity of cocaine has been brought into these premises.’
The youth centre’s social worker remonstrated with the sergeant, pleading that they had a deal with the police.
‘I have received a specific tip off. I’m afraid the deal’s off,’ replied the sergeant. ‘Now out of my way, please.’ He brushed past the social worker and made a beeline for the snooker table. Jamal, Tariq, Omar and Rashid backed away as the Alsatian and its handler approached them.
‘Out of the way, son,’ one of the policeman said to Jack. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you should clear off now.’
Jack watched as his four new friends were forced to turn out their pockets one by one. When no bags of white powder were found, the sniffer dog was brought forward. The dog ignored Tariq, Omar and Rashid, but sat at the feet of Jamal and remained as stiff as a statue.
The sergeant walked up to Jamal. ‘Are you going to hand over the drugs or do we have to search you down at the station?’
Jamal looked around to see if there was any way out of his predicament. For a second he made eye contact with Jack, and then removed a small packet of white powder from his sock. He handed it over to the sergeant with an unsteady hand. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead.
Jack swayed at the bar stool and clutched at his head as the multitude of voices competed for his attention.
‘Your new friends will be impressed, Jack, if you take the blame for them,’ said the voice of his ex-girlfriend, Helen.
From deep inside his consciousness he heard the voice of his long-dead mother. ‘It’s time to be a man, my darling. Tell the police the powder is yours. Do it for me, my beautiful son.’
Jack stood up from the bar stool. He tried to stop himself, but he was compelled to move forward like a sleepwalker in a bad dream. He walked towards the burly sergeant. His mouth opened and the words tumbled out. ‘It were me. I gave it to ’im.’
The four policemen looked at Jack. ‘Get him out of here,’ the sergeant said to the police constable. ‘The boy’s a nutter.’
‘I supplied it. You can ask t’ lads.’
The sergeant looked at the four youths, his eyes challenging them to take responsibility for their actions. ‘He’s lying for you, isn’t he?’ the sergeant asked.
The boys remained silent.
‘Did this... simpleton give you the drugs?’ repeated the sergeant.
Jamal was a picture of indecision as he considered the way out that Jack had offered him.
Jack swayed in the middle of the room as the voices in his head overwhelmed him and he clutched at his head once more. The four girls in the corner looked aghast at the pitiful spectacle that was Jack Jardine. They gathered their coats and handbags and rushed out of the room.
‘Yes. He gave it to me,’ said Jamal.
The sergeant turned around and studied Jack for the first time.
‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Jack Jardine.’
‘Jack Jardine. Come with me.’ He walked over to the corner where the four girls had been seconds before, the smell of cheap perfume and body odour lingering. Jack trudged behind him as the voices slipped back into the recesses of his brain.
The sergeant put an arm on Jack’s slim shoulder and leaned in so only Jack could hear. ‘I know for a fact you did not give the drugs to these... low-life scum. That’s why I’m going to let you off with a caution. We needed a reason to bring them in for questioning and your performance back there has blown our operation. But I’m going to give you this advice for free. These people are not who they seem to be, and have been under police observation for some time. Do not befriend them or they will take you down a path you will regret. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
‘Aye.’
The sergeant left Jack and re-joined his officers.
‘But, they were me friends,’ Jack said to no-one, as he stood alone in the corner of the youth centre, still holding his pool cue.
CHAPTER 8
‘Thank you for inviting us to your beautiful home here in Chelsea Creek. I hope you enjoyed our presentation of Sirius Solar Power’s first ninety-day plan. Now, if I may, I would like to introduce our senior management team to you,’ Sam said to Sienna.
Sienna caught the e
ye of the two waiters who had been hovering at the back of the luxurious dining room and signalled them to clear the dishes and refill the guests’ wine glasses.
‘On your immediate left is Tom Bradshaw. He is a geology graduate from Imperial College London. He has put together some research papers on techniques to measure the extent of oil and gas reserves in shale rock using aerial video from drones. He enjoys extreme sports and has joined our team as he is fascinated by the idea of working in Egypt.’
‘I’m sure you will love Egypt,’ Sienna said. ‘And welcome to the Sirius project.’
‘Thank you, Miss Daingerfield,’ said Bradshaw, besotted by her exotic looks.
‘At the end of the table, we have our photovoltaic expert, Jordan Wingfield. We were lucky enough to poach him from Silicon Valley’s SunPower Corporation. Jordan already has over thirty patents for solar technology to his name, and will be responsible for designing our high-efficiency utility grade panels.’
Wingfield stood and nodded to Sienna. He was a handsome American about forty years old. ‘I have long admired how your father has shaken up the energy industry, ma’am. When Mr Jardine told me Daingerfield Oil was expanding into solar energy, I jumped at the opportunity.’
‘Thank you for your kind words, Mr Wingfield. But please tell me why you are targeting the commercial rather than the domestic market with your new panels?’
‘In the last two years in the States, no new coal-fired power stations have been built, but over one hundred and thirty-five were closed. Solar farms are the cheapest and quickest means of replacing that lost capacity, and I expect the best short-term growth to come from that sector.’
‘Thank you, Mr Wingfield. I’m looking forward to working with you.’
Sam now looked at the cantankerous Welshman, Colin Jenkins, who was the senior designer of the Sirius solar-powered vehicle engineering team. He had threatened to walk out and take the four remaining engineers with him. Sam had spent ten days trying to persuade him to stay. Jenkins loathed the fracking industry and had only agreed to a six-month contract on condition the new solar division maintained complete independence from its fracking parent. Sam had pleaded with Jenkins to be civil to Sienna, but Jenkins had offered no such reassurance.
‘And may I introduce to you Colin Jenkins, senior designer of the Sirius solar-powered vehicle,’ Sam said.
‘I am so sorry about your friend Sir Roger Harmison, Mr Jenkins. He was a great loss to the world. He left an incredible legacy.’
‘Thank you, Miss Daingerfield.’
‘And we are delighted you decided to join our new solar power division. I can promise you that your contribution to the environmental sustainability of our company will be a legacy to be proud of. Mr Jardine has advised me you would like to design and build a full-scale clay model of a road-going version of the Sirius?’
‘That’s right, Miss Daingerfield. The original Sirius was designed so it could be transformed into a regular road-going vehicle. We will keep most of the vehicle’s racing lines, but soften its assertive stance. If we were to build a full-scale model, then we could sell the design rights to a major motor manufacturing company for a much greater fee.’
Sam groaned. He had argued long and hard with Jenkins that putting more money into the Sirius would only antagonise Rex Daingerfield.
‘That sounds like an excellent idea, Mr Jenkins. I will see to it my father allocates appropriate funds for your clay model,’ said Sienna.
Jenkins glowed with satisfaction. ‘Thank you, Miss Daingerfield. You won’t regret it.’
‘And finally, may I introduce the team’s lawyer, Martin Kincofu from Zambia,’ Sam said. ‘He will be helping us with our legal, governance and compliance issues.’
Kincofu stood and gave Sienna a summary of his legal credentials and his Zambian background.
‘I’m delighted you could join us, Mr Kincofu. I understand it was you who convinced Sam to abandon the Luangwa fracking site. It is important that you stand up for your principles.’
‘Thank you for your support, Miss Daingerfield. Your vote of confidence means a lot to me.’
Polite conversation ensued around the table until Bradshaw, Wingfield, Jenkins and Kincofu excused themselves from Sienna’s apartment.
‘I should be on my way as well,’ Sam said once they had gone. ‘I have a long journey to Chichester ahead of me.’
Sienna laid a hand on his arm. ‘Actually, I wanted have a quick word with you. I must go on a personal trip tomorrow and I need you to understand why this project is so important to me.’
* * *
Sam waited in the opulent lounge of Sienna’s penthouse while she supervised the waiting staff. He strolled to a telescope mounted on its tripod near the large window. Putting his eye to the eyescope, Sam focused on the distinctive stacks of Battersea power station, lit up so they reflected onto the river, then swivelled the telescope to look up the Thames before settling on the illuminated outline of the Albert Bridge.
A polite cough interrupted Sam’s viewing of the spectacular London vista. ‘Excuse me, sir?’
Sam turned to see a waiter carrying a silver tray on which were two tall glasses of cloudy liquid laden with fruit.
‘What’s this?’ asked Sam, taking one of the glasses.
‘It’s sherbet. It’s a traditional Arabian drink prepared by Miss Daingerfield. She said it would relax you.’
Sam took a sip of the cool, effervescent drink. The tangy flavours exploded on his tongue. He recognised the taste of lemon and mango, while other flavours were strange and exotic.
‘Nice.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said the waiter as he backed out of the room.
Sam sat on the luxurious cream leather sofa and sipped his sherbet. He became aware of the smell of incense and soft Arabian music, and his eyes grew heavy. Must have drunk too much wine during the evening meal. He became aware of Sienna’s exotic perfume as she entered the lounge. She had changed out of her fitted Chanel business suit and was wearing a white cotton dress that cascaded to her ankles. She had discarded her shoes and had arranged her jet-black hair so it flowed around her shoulders.
‘Thank you for waiting, Sam. I hope you don’t mind; I have changed out of my formal attire. It doesn’t sit easily on me.’
‘Not at all. You look striking. Like a portrait of an ancient Egyptian aristocrat.’
Sienna smiled. ‘You are closer than you realise. This dress is over two thousand years old.’
‘It looks new.’
‘It comes from a temple deep in the Egyptian White Desert. Nothing seems to deteriorate in that environment.’ Sienna sat next to Sam and tucked her legs beneath her body.
‘Are you really Rex Daingerfield’s daughter? You seem so different to him on every level.’
‘I’m the product of Rex’s affair with my mother in the city of Luxor thirty years ago.’
Sam tried to hide his shock by taking a long sip of his sherbet.
‘What was Rex doing there?’
‘He was always fascinated by ancient Egyptian culture. Twenty-nine years ago, he fulfilled a dream to tour the monuments. My mother is an Egyptologist; she was his guide while he was in Egypt.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘I feel you have a right to know why I chose you to help me to fulfil my destiny.’
‘And what is your destiny, Sienna?’ Sam was intrigued.
‘To reverse some of the damage that mankind has done to the world. If you understand my background, it will help you commit to your new role with the passion it deserves.’
‘You don’t believe I’m committed?’ Sam said. He was disappointed at Sienna’s lack of trust.
‘I believe you are financially committed to the role and I am convinced you will do a good job, but your heart and soul are elsewhere.’
Sam gazed at Sienna’s exotic features. Her emerald green eyes stared straight at him as if challenging him to disagree. Dark make-up lined her eyes and extende
d in wings towards her temples. Her high cheekbones gave her an almost feline grace. Sam was unable to hold her piercing gaze.
‘I would be interested to hear your story,’ he said.
* * *
Jack Jardine slipped the kangaroo leather hood off the hawk’s head and stared in wonder at the magnificent brown speckled bird that was perched on his arm.
‘Go on, you can stroke her,’ said Jamal.
Jack raised his arm slowly so as not to startle the bird and ran his hand along the hawk’s feathered back. He stared at the bird’s flame-coloured eyes and saw the hawk bristle with anticipation. The little bells on the hawk’s legs rattled as it shifted position on Jamal’s gauntlet.
It was early morning in the lush green meadows near the picturesque Yorkshire town of Holmfirth. The ground was still frosty, and their breath steamed from their mouths as they spoke. The farmer who owned the land had been delighted to let Jack and the other four boys hunt for rabbits with their magnificent bird of prey.
‘Good luck, lads,’ he had said. ‘Catch as many of the little buggers as you can.’
One hundred metres away, Tariq raised his thumb as he stood near the entrance of the rabbit warren they had found earlier. He pulled out the ferret that had been nestling in his coat and placed it in the rabbit hole.
Jamal pulled the nylon jess strap from the bird’s anklets and then lifted the gauntlet on which the one-kilogram bird was perched. The hawk flapped its wings and soared into the air looking for the prey that its co-hunter would soon flush into the open. Within seconds, two rabbits were chased from the warren’s bolthole by the vicious ferret. The hawk dived towards the first of the two rabbits. The rabbit darted for the safety of a nearby blackberry bush. But it was too late. The bird stretched out its sharp talons and seized the rabbit by the shoulders. It took just six seconds for the hawk to kill its prey. Jack ran towards the kill and arrived breathless with excitement. He watched the hawk tear at the rabbit carcass with morbid fascination. He was oblivious to the other boys, who had now joined him.
The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3) Page 6