JASON STEED Absolutely Nothing

by Mark A. Cooper

  “This is where we keep track of your old friends Jason, the Triad.” George winked. Jason looked through the glass window but kept walking. “It’s quiet in there now thanks to you. We just check on their activities to see if we can sniff out anything.”

  Jason shuddered as he thought about his last mission. It was something he wanted to put behind him. He went undercover in a boy’s detention center to befriend a Triad leader’s son. Although the mission was a success, it had almost cost Jason his life.

  “Ah here we are.” George sighed loudly as he opened a door to an office. They followed him and gasped at the sight of the wall of photographs of children, mostly aged between eleven and sixteen. Most of the pictures were school photographs and showed the children in uniforms a variety of colors and styles from around Great Britain.

  “Are all these children missing?” Ray asked astonished, glancing over the fresh young faces.

  “Sadly, this is just the ones who have turned up dead. There are thousands of kids who run away and come to London. Unfortunately, maybe two to three hundred turn up dead each year,” George said casually. “Across the UK, over seventy thousand kids aged eleven to sixteen run away from home every year. They travel across the country and arrive here in London, mostly via the train from their hometown or city connecting stations. Beneath the attraction of London’s bright lights and historic city hides a much darker side. A seedy underground network that prey on these young runaways.

  Thousands never return home. Some are forced to work for no money. The lucky ones get menial jobs in sweat factories. Unlucky ones just roam the streets. Some are locked up in youth detention centers for theft. The remainder are never seen again. We believe they're sold on an international black market for body parts or forced into illegal activities, becoming entangled in our gruesome underworld.”

  Pauline and Ian looked horrified. Pauline started to cry.

  “I’m not saying your daughter’s dead, far from it. If I can help in anyway then these people can.” George said pointing at two male officers and a stern looking lady officer. George explained to his officers the situation. They glanced over at Jason and started to speak among themselves. The woman officer came over and shook Jason’s hand.

  “So you’re the famous Jason Steed. It’s nice to meet you at last. I was a junior detective when you were working for us on the Boudica Triad case. I work here in the illegal children’s labor dept no. I’m Barbara Inkpen. Please, call me Barb.” She smiled.

  George interrupted and explained that London had over twenty gangs that he knew of that worked selling children. It was cold hearing the real life events that happened in the back streets of London. Children as young as eleven were sold like animals to rich clients, and some were used for organ transplants. Healthy young organs could fetch a fortune. Many of the donors would be left in unsanitary conditions and die in agony.

  George was optimistic that Abigail was probably just roaming the streets with other young runaways she had met up with. He just wanted them to be prepared for the worst.

  “She would have arrived at Paddington train station,” Bill explained in his upper class accent. “Surely one has people watching the station?”

  “Paddington has over two hundred thousand people a day passing through. Maybe twenty-five to thirty thousand are school age children, either going to school or visiting family. Do you propose we stop and interrogate every child under sixteen? Not to mention they likely wouldn't tell the truth,” George snapped.

  “Then what did you bring us in here for?” Bill asked anxiously. “How on earth is this helping?”

  “Well,” George said loudly. He looked at Jason and gave a smile. “If we could have a kid run away, get a train to Paddington, and hang out and see who attempts to pick them up we may have a lead. It would of course be safe. We'd keep watch from a distance. But the kid would have to be able to look after himself if there was a problem.”

  “No way.” Ray snorted. “George Young, you never bloody give up do you? Jason has done more for his country than anyone should have to do. How can you even think of using him again?”

  George sat on the end of a desk and folded his arms with a straight face. “Unless you’ve got another idea how to get on the inside and find out where these kids get taken, then I guess you lot had better start walking the streets of London looking. But if there is anyone who could do this, Jason could. If they picked up Jason it would be like handing them a ticking bomb. If they tried to touch him, he would rip ‘em apart.”

  “It would work. He’s extremely good looking, small and blond. Many would pay a high price for someone like him.” Brenda smiled at Jason who was blushing. “I love how you have your blond hair hanging over your eyes, you look so cute.”

  Chapter Two

  Reluctantly, Ray Steed agreed to allow Jason to work as a decoy for the undercover operation. Jason was delighted to get time off school and to work for SYUI again.

  He also insisted his best friend Scott worked at SYUI while he was undercover. Jason trusted Scott; he had twice before been an advantage. Scott would help monitor his progress. If Jason needed to meet with someone to pass information, it would look harmless if he was just talking to another boy his own age.

  While preparing to go undercover Jason and Scott spent a day reading some of the case files from the missing or dead children. Jason was physically sick when he read some of the files and learned what some children were forced to do. It made him more determined to work undercover and try to help save some of the runaways.

  Raymond Steed drove Jason fifty miles out of London to Reading train Station. Reading was a major bypass station most travellers would pass through. It made sense to board here. Scott went along for the car ride to keep Jason Company.

  SYUI were already in place at Paddington train station; one of the officers was working at the newsstand. It was a busy Sunday and he was angry at the amount of newspapers he was forced to sell to members of the public. Cursing under his breath that he did not join the police force to sell newspapers. Other officers were in similar positions; one was emptying trashcans and picking up trash, while a few others acted as passengers roaming around as if waiting for a train.

  *

  Jason took a deep breath of fresh air as they climbed out of the car. Scott stretched his arms and yawned.

  “Jase, why are railroads always angry?” Scott grinned.

  Jason hated to ask he knew Scott was going to throw a hundred jokes at him. “I dunno. Why are railroads angry?” Jason asked.

  “Because people keep crossing them.” He laughed and Jason grinned once outside the station, he gave his dad a hug and a kiss goodbye.

  “I’ll be home in a couple of days at the most, Dad. Don’t worry.” Jason said.

  “But I will worry. Look after yourself. As soon as someone tries to pick you up, let SYUI take over,” Ray said, holding Jason so tight he could hardly breathe. They kissed again. Jason gave Scott a quick ‘man hug’ goodbye.

  “See ya, mate. It'll be nice to miss school tomorrow.” Jason laughed.

  “Yeah, I’m going straight to SYUI. As soon as you know something call in. Oh here you must take this,” Scott said passing Jason some gum.

  “Thanks why must I?” he asked surprised.

  “This is so you can do what a train does—chew, chew, Choo.” Scott grinned.

  Jason found himself in a half full carriage with mostly adults reading newspapers. For the most part of the journey he sat alone and looked out the window as the scenery flashed by. He checked his pockets; he had some money, change for a phone call, a small pocketknife, and the gum Scott gave him. He had a backpack with some clean underwear, socks, shirt, toothbrush, and comb.

  Once he stepped off the train at Paddington, a strange feeling came over him. Jason could never describe it. The blood in his body pumped harder and hotter. It was how he felt when he was left alone on Jakarta after the massacre. He was alone, yet found an inner strength. It made him aler
t and able to focus and absorb his surroundings, pulling and funnelling information in into his brain.

  He zipped up the front of his jacket and slowly walked along the platform until he was through the ticket gate with the other passengers.

  Paddington station was a massive building. He looked up at the ceiling in awe. Huge steel rafters covered with pigeons supported the roof; each rafter had a series of star shapes cut out. Jason wondered why. The station had various shops, kiosks, and cafés.

  He noticed a newsstand, and he studied the man working. They gave each other a paused glance before Jason continued walking. He spent six hours wandering around the shops. He bought himself a coke with a five-pound note his father gave him. He never noticed a black youth watching him as he stuffed the change back in his pocket.

  Jason knew George Young had planted several agents around the station and would be here himself somewhere. To help pass the time he tried to work out who was working for SYUI and who was just a member of public or actually worked for British Rail.

  After drinking his coke, he made his way to the men’s bathroom and started to relieve himself. He looked at the chrome water pipe in front that flushed the urinal and watched his reflection. He noticed the black youth come in behind him. As if he had a sixth sense he could feel the boy watching him and watching the door. Jason turned his head for second to look at him. He thought the boy looked about fifteen, wearing dirty jeans and a Millwall Football Club black hoodie.

  Jason looked back to the front. From the chrome pipe he could see the youth take out what looked like a knife from his back pocket. He hadn’t time to finish, but he stopped and dribbled down his leg as he tucked himself away and did up his zipper.

  Jason turned.

  “Hand over the money and I may not cut up your pretty face,” the youth said, waving the knife towards Jason.

  Jason span on one leg and threw a roundhouse kick. It hit the soft target in the youth's stomach, knocking the wind out of him. The boy was thrown back against the sinks and fell forward gasping for air. Jason kicked out again twice in rapid succession to the face. The youth's head was knocked back against the sink, cut open and oozing blood. He slid down, leaving a blood stained smear down the tiled wall. He was out cold.

  “I like my face the way it is thanks.” Jason cursed at him. He approached and pulled his leg back to kick him again, but stopped short. The youth wasn’t moving, Jason thought that he may have over reacted and was now concerned he may have seriously hurt him. Plus he looked even younger now he was lying motionless. He ran outside to the man on the newsstand.

  “I think I may have hurt someone in the bathroom, he was a mugger he tried to rob me,” Jason said sheepishly.

  The undercover officer looked around to make sure no one was watching.

  “Go away; I’ll take care of it,” he whispered. He ducked down behind the counter and contacted the SYUI unit on his radio.

  Jason strolled back to the center of the station and sat on a bench, not knowing if he had spoilt the mission. He watched two men in suits enter the bathroom. Five minutes later an ambulance crew went in with a stretcher. Jason watched from a distance as they carried the youth out.

  A small crowd gathered to watch. One of the men was talking to George Young who seemed to have appeared out of thin air. They all watched the boy get carried away in the ambulance with its lights flashing.

  George paced directly towards Jason. It was obvious he was angry. His eyes looked like they were going to explode as he glared at Jason.

  I’m in for it now, Jason thought to himself, sure he had blown the whole operation and wasted everyone’s time. He knew he wasn't allowed to use martial arts on members of the public. He should have just left. Even in self-defence he was legally supposed to verbally warn the person that he has martial arts skills. Now the whole operation could be off because he'd lost his temper. Worse still, if the youth was severely injured or worse, Jason could be in serious trouble.

  George immediately verbally attacked Jason. It started with “What the hell is wrong with you?” He continued to rant and rave for nearly four minutes, going over and over how much the manpower had cost to set up the mission and how Jason’s quick temper had ruined it before it started and put an teenager in hospital. Eventually, George took a breath and asked Jason what he had to say for himself.

  Jason sheepishly looked up. Some of the commuters watched. They didn’t know what was happening, but they could clearly see a young boy being shouted at. To look at the pair of them, you could have mistaken it for father scolding his son.

  “George, I’m sorry. But that’s why they put easers on pencils. We all make mistakes, and that guy had a knife and wanted my money. Suppose I was a normal boy in there without martial art skills,” Jason said. He stood up to face George.

  “And just how are you going to help Abigail now? There are another hundred teenage thugs like that in London. Half killing them won’t clear up the problem.” George spat.

  “What do we do now?” Barbara Inkpen asked. She joined in, giving the reprimanding glare to Jason.

  “Pack up and let’s go home, but first go to the hospital and see what happened to the mugger. I’m sure he won’t make a complaint, and he has no idea Jason was working for us, so it may just go away,” George said. He turned, giving Jason a final glare before storming off.

  “What about me?” Jason meekly asked.

  George turned and shouted back so loud it even made Barbara jump.

  “Go home! And get some help with that bloody temper of yours. That’s the third time you’ve nearly killed someone unnecessarily.”

  Jason stood quietly. Deep down, he knew he had gone too far in certain cases, but it was always a case of self-defence. His problem was he couldn’t stop himself once he was pumped up with adrenaline in a fight. Nevertheless, he was visibly shaken by the verbal reprimand from George, someone he’d considered a friend. He sat back down on the bench and twiddled his fingers, biting his bottom lip.

  “Come on. I’ll give you a lift home Jason.” Barbara smiled, holding out her hand. Jason looked up at her.

  He wasn’t a baby that needed his hand held he told himself. “I’ll catch a taxi. I wouldn’t want to waste more of SYUI’s money,” Jason snapped.

  “Are you sure?” she asked.

  “Yes. Just go”. He watched under his blond bangs as the undercover team started to leave. A woman had sat reading gave him a dirty look as she stood and left.

  “You mean I spent five hours picking up trash for nothing?” a man’s angry voice said as Barbara told him the operation was called off. Jason thought he was a janitor who was sweeping the station floor. The undercover officer looked at Jason and shook his head from side to side.

  Jason took a deep breath. He felt like everyone in the station was glaring at him. He slowly walked outside of the station, stopping and watching some passengers saying goodbye to family as they caught a train. He dug in his pocket and realized he never had enough money for a taxi. He thought about a bus, but wasn't certain which bus would be going in his direction. When he had been in London in the past on buses, he was either with Scott, who could memorize all the bus routes, or he had known what number buses to catch. Reluctantly, he walked back inside the station to find Barbara.

  After five minutes of searching he gave up. The entire SYUI team had packed up and left. He felt pretty stupid for turning down the ride home, so he made his way to the large bus timetable on the wall. He examined it until he found some familiar places, made a mental note of the bus numbers, and walked up onto the street looking for the bus stop with the relevant numbers. Once he found the bus stop he sat on a bench waiting.

  Chapter Three

  A boy about fourteen came out of nowhere and sat next to Jason on the bench.

  “Got any cigs on yer?” the boy asked in a broad cockney accent.

  “No, I don’t smoke,” Jason replied, looking at the youth. He was taller than Jason, stocky built, with short b
rown hair. He was wearing a black leather jacket, blue jeans, and ‘Doc Martin’ black boots. Jason thought he looked dirty.

  “Got any money?” he asked, now sitting on the back of the bench with his feet on the seat.

  “That’s my business.”

  “You gotta big mouth for a small kid. How old are you?” he asked, looking down at Jason.

  I’m not in the mood for a fight, but if you want to start that’s fine with me, Jason said to himself.

  “Twelve.”

  “I’ve been watching yer. Lost are yer?” he asked, taking out some gum from his pocket.

  “No. I know where I am.”

  “So what you doing here then mate?”

  Jason paused. He knew the mission was off now, but thought he would play along; this could be the contact he had previously wanted.

  “I run away from home,” Jason said proudly.

  “Oh, you’re a big boy now then. So big boy, I spose you got a nice comfy bed to sleep in tonight have yer? Maybe some money for hot food?”

  Jason pulled out his money, purposely letting the youth see it.

  “I got enough for fish & chips.”

  “If you hang around here, the ‘Old Bill’ will pick you up. You can’t sleep on the station. They'll send you back to your mommy.”

  “Then I won’t stay here. I’ll go into London.”

  “You’re in bloody London. You’re a right green one you are.” He laughed and passed a piece of gum to Jason. A young woman aged around eighteen drew his and Jason’s attention. She wore a short skirt and tight fitting top. She briskly walked past, struggling to walk in her high heel shoes.

  ‘Old Bill’ is London cockney slang for Police.

  “She’s called ‘Butter face,’” the boy said.

  “Butter face? Do you know her?” Jason asked, taking the gum.

  “No but that’s what we call a bird like that. She’s got a good body, nice legs, and all that good stuff, if ya know what I mean. Everything, but her face. ” He grinned. Jason roared with laughter. The youth slid down the back of the bench and held out his hand.