The Unseen

by James McKenna

  Richard looked into the gap between the buttons of her blouse, then down at her legs. She eased herself which hitched the skirt higher. What he wanted most was to get the files back. This gave an opportunity to copy them at the beach house. Wileman and the girl would never know.

  “Am I to assume you are available for other activity?”

  The smile narrowed and her lips compressed. “The maid will take care of your sexual requirements. I’ve since risen in the ranks.” She passed him a flash drive of her own. “This is Mr Wileman’s new project for you. A lot of money is involved. He wants you to study it during the flight and let him know what you think. Afterwards you get paid a great deal of money.” She slotted the flash drive into his computer. “You start working, Richard. I’ll drink the champagne.”

  The mist lifted and Zoby pushed himself up to lean against a wall. His leg throbbed with pain as he removed the towel and cringed at the congealed mess underneath. He washed the wound plus the surrounding dark and purple skin.

  “Has to be a bullet wound,” he said and pulled open the bathroom cabinet smashing bottles to the floor as he scrabbled amongst the contents, searching for ointment which he smeared over the discolouration before covering it with gauze and plaster strips. What he wanted most was distraction. Money, women. He picked up his mobile and keyed in a message. Where’s my money? “You hear that, Colonel? I never been wounded before, I want my money. I want another woman. You can’t count the alien as a woman. Fucking hostiles, shit man, I’m going to give those bitches hell.” He switched the phone off and slipped it to his shirt pocket.

  They sat as left. The elder one had been crying, the left side of her face now red and puffy. The alien had her lips clenched. The floor under her seat was wet.

  “You pissed yourself!”

  She looked away from him.

  “Shitbag! Disregard for hygiene is a disciplinary offence.” He lifted the sword from the table. He could feel his mother strapping him, saw the belt coming down and down on the flaming skin of his arms, his shoulders and his back. No one listened to his screams as she forced him down, rubbing his face into the stinking floor, pushing him deep inside, making him hide where no-one could see.

  “She couldn’t help it, we’ve been here hours. Please.”

  “Please what?” He turned to the elder, edging the sword under the hem of her skirt.

  “Please don’t hurt us.” She was shaking her head, crying again.

  He flicked upwards, slicing the material. “Sir, you call me sir,” he shouted it into her face. “Understand that? Hostile!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stooped and licked her. She tasted sweet and salty which gave him an instant hard on. “Prepare yourself, pretty thing. I’m getting ready to fuck.” Straddling her legs, his hand in her hair, he jammed her forward, mouth to crotch. Then remembering she bit, he stepped hurriedly back.

  Her eyes were closed, her face screwed up, her lips clamped.

  “Get used to it, girl. It’s tough in the Marines. See that?” He pointed to scars on his arm. “That’s from ’Nam, that one’s the Gulf, that Afghanistan.”

  “Liar.”

  He looked down to the alien, not believing what she had called him as he lifted the sword. “Who the fuck asked you to speak? You stinking, little shitbag. You’re gonna die, now. One swipe.” He placed the sword blade on her shoulders, standing back to measure his stance and settle his feet. The head rose clean above the chair back, just perfect. She had her eyes jammed tight, her body shaking. The older one sat like a stretched stork, her eyes wide as she mouthed silent words. Then they came tumbling in a torrent.

  “I’ll do anything, I promise. Don’t kill her, I beg you. I’ll suck you, anything!”

  Zoby laughed and found the boy inside was laughing too. He pointed the sword to her chest. “Only playing, pretty thing. See, I don’t really want to kill her, not yet awhile. We got four, maybe five days of fun to go and before I’m finished you’ll both be sucking like piggies at the sow.” He unzipped his flies, switched on his head radio then waited for the static to clear. “Colonel, this is Zoby. Mission proceeding as ordered. Hostiles under control, I’m about to start the fun.”

  “Proceed on my order only.”

  “Combat conditions don’t allow that, Colonel. I’m a hostile short and I need distraction from the pain. I’m going to check your command with headquarters.” He switched on the mobile. “If they say go, the alien gets first treat, then you, pretty thing.” Zoby banged his head to close down the combat radio. Almost immediately his mobile rang. It filled the silence of the room. He couldn’t believe his mobile rang. It kept ringing. This was no text. He pressed to answer.

  “This is the Colonel, Zoby. Give me situation report.”

  Zoby opened his mouth but no sound came. He didn’t need his head radio, he had real time now. “Prisoners secure and ready for interrogation, sir.”

  “Well done, Zoby. What is their condition?”

  “Loosened up, sir. Ready to go.”

  “Just keep it on hold, don’t do anything.”

  “Then how do I interrogate them? I have my systems.” He listened to a moment’s silence.

  “They’re under the Geneva Convention.”

  Sean looked into the black night. Somewhere out there his babies were still alive, somewhere close. He felt tears on his cheek, felt the burn of rage. He waited on Zoby’s answer.

  “You’re kidding me, Colonel. This mission is covert. What’s the point of risking my neck for hostiles if I can’t do anything?”

  Sean closed his eyes, doubts pulling in every direction. “I got your money.”

  “All of it, double bubble?”

  “Double bubble, plus bonus.”

  “How come you’re calling? You never called before.”

  “I need your location for the drop.” Sean clenched his teeth, waiting.

  “It’s the interrogation compound, same as always. I told you over the radio. I want it here now, not in the bitch’s grave.”

  Sean paused, listening to his own breath. “Bad reception, I didn’t pick up your signal. Tell me that again.”

  “Can I start on the hostiles? I need to go for mission objective.”

  Sean looked to Victoria and indicated for her to slow. “It’s different this time, you didn’t get the last hostile so I brought another for you.”

  “A proper female? These two ain’t much. One’s OK. The other’s just a piss-pants alien.”

  “Don’t bother with them, Zoby. Wait for the real one. This one is class.”

  “Decent body?”

  “Perfect. Want to talk with her?” He glanced at Victoria and slotted the mobile to hands-free, checking his watch for length of call.

  “Hallo, Zoby.” Victoria’s voice purred like velvet.

  “Hope you’re getting yourself ready woman, ’cos once I’m into you, you’re mine forever.”

  “If you say so, sir.”

  “I like that. Respect, obedience. When will you be here?”

  “When I know your location, sir, I’ll be there.”

  “Off the A1. Now put me back to the Colonel.”

  “Off the A1,” she repeated. “Whereabouts?”

  “Give me the Colonel, bitch.”

  Sean retrieved the phone, switching eyes between motorway and map, tracing a finger to the second address. It had to be. He showed Victoria and was pressed back in his seat as she came out the slow lane under maximum acceleration. God, he had hope, at last he had hope.

  “ETA twelve minutes,” he whispered and put the phone to his ear. “Like the sound of her, Zoby?”

  “I’ll like it better when she’s squealing. Sure wish I could warm up on these two.”

  “No, Zoby. That’s an order.”

  “Where’s my fucking money? Crystal was meant to bring my money.”

  “It’s coming. A real woman too. You’re going to have it all, Zoby. Just wait a few minutes.”

  “I’m dumb
sick of waiting! I want action.”

  “Shit!” Victoria glanced to her rear mirror the same time the wail of sirens reached the car. The motorway patrol was a quarter mile behind, struggling to keep pace.

  Sean covered the mouthpiece. “You have to stop, can’t have that blaring up to the house. Christ knows what he’d do.” Victoria began to slow.

  “Hey, Zoby. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “You got problems? Do I hear sounds of pigs approaching?”

  “I’ll deal with it, Zoby. You talk to the woman, take a smoke.”

  “Smoke! I’m physically A1, combat proficient. I don’t smoke.”

  Victoria stopped on the hard shoulder. Behind them the siren slowed and faded. Sean thrust the mobile into her lap. “Keep him sweet.” He opened the door, took out his badge and pushed it into the face of the patrol constable. “Serious Organised Crime Agency, priority operation. Now fuck off. Quietly.” Sean returned to the car. Victoria sat shaking her head, her faced flushed as she listened. “Colonel’s back,” she said, handing over the mobile, blowing her cheeks in relief. She shot the car to speed. Her own mobile buzzed and she lifted it to answer, whispering into the mouthpiece as Sean listened to Zoby.

  “Is this situation red, Colonel? Shall I execute the prisoners now?”

  “No! Situation normal. I got a top quality female for you. She gets first hit.”

  “What the fuck’s going on, Colonel. I’m hearing over my combat radio you’re back at base. You fucking with me?”

  Sean screwed up the ham of his fist, pressing it down against his leg. “Zoby, no-one fucks with you. You’ve done the campaigns, put in the sweat, taken the knocks.”

  Victoria slowed and cut across lanes for the next turn off. “Mobile watch gives cross-reference to second address. Four minutes,” she whispered. Top of the ramp she turned left, kicked the car to eighty, then a hundred, skipping both sides of the road, braking, taking any gap between traffic. She turned again on to a minor road, headlights blazing into darkness. Ahead lay a cluster of street lamps and the concrete strip to an industrial estate.

  “I sure have, Colonel,” Zoby said. “And I got the medals to prove it. That faggot, Crystal, he’s got shit all. Soon as I get my money, I’m going to chop him.”

  “You do that, Zoby. He deserves it.”

  “Sure does, fancy streak of shit, walking round like he’s somebody.”

  “You seen him?” Sean asked.

  “Course I seen him. Except he don’t know it. I hid when he put money in the bitch’s grave. Flashy bastard in his pinstripe.”

  Victoria slowed and cruised past industrial buildings. No house until a hundred metres down the road. An old gate lodge. “Has to be,” she whispered and stopped the car.

  “Now you got more money, and the woman. You got it made, Zoby.”

  “You said that already, Colonel.”

  Victoria took an automatic from her bag and handed it to Sean, then a second Glock 9mm from the glove compartment before she left the car. Sean followed.

  “You’re sharp, Zoby. You don’t miss a thing.”

  “You can say that again, shit head. Because I know Crystal and the Colonel are the same. You think you fool me? Where’s the money? Where’s this woman?”

  “I got her, Zoby. I’m bringing her right now.”

  “Listen, Crystal, I just raised the real Colonel on my combat radio. You streak of shit. He just gave a direct order for me to take mission control. I’m losing patience, Crystal. I want my money, now!”

  “Here it comes, Zoby. Few more minutes, it’s all yours.”

  Sean followed Victoria into the front garden. The black van was evidence enough. Lights showed at the rear, garden lights and window lights, meaning whoever was inside could see out.

  The silver Jaguar was parked askew over the back lawn. It gave some cover but a bad angle of approach. Crouched on the dark side with Victoria beside him, he peered over the bonnet into a set of French windows.

  Zoby stood central to the room holding something by his side. Two heads were silhouetted above the chair backs. The angle of fire was bad, the range too far for certain accuracy. Sean took aim, his heart hammering with taut nerves.

  Victoria put up her hand. “Don’t, the glass may deflect the round. You might hit one of the girls.”

  “Give me an alternative?”

  “Diversion,” she began to unbutton her blouse. “You said you were bringing a woman. Let’s show him one. Try the kitchen door. If it’s open, you take him from inside. I’ll only fire if necessary. My weapon is unofficial.” She took off her blouse and bra, then unzipped her trousers. “Go,” she said, standing in a half crouch while jamming the whole lot to her ankles, wriggling her feet out of shoes and trouser legs.

  Sean ran, his head low, staying from view on the edge of light until he could turn along the wall of the house.

  “OK, Crystal,” Zoby said, over the mobile. “I’m fucked off with you. Time to execute the hostiles.”

  “Look out the window, Zoby. The woman is there. You can see her. I brought her for you, Zoby. Don’t do anything ’til you see her.”

  The back door creaked open with slight pressure on the handle. Immediately he could hear Zoby’s voice. The kitchen lights blazed and the furniture gave no cover as he crept forward to the hall. He tried to hold his breath, tried not to make a sound.

  “What fucking woman?”

  Through the open door of the back room, he saw his girls. Both stared up at Zoby, their faces shocked by fear as he lifted a sword shoulder high and braced himself, the blade poised to swing. In those seconds he became motionless, staring to the window. Victoria stood naked, one hand behind her back, preening. She had Zoby’s total attention.

  Sean kicked the door. “Armed police, don’t move.”

  “You’re not Crystal. Who the fuck are you?” His hand momentarily loosened on the sword, then tightened again.

  Sean fired three rounds into Zoby’s groin and blew away his genitals. He spared his life, he had a living witness to Caswell. The fourth round came from outside and smashed Zoby’s head open.

  CHAPTER 23

  Sean sat in the ambulance and held both girls to his chest. Amidst their quiet sobs he whispered words of reassurance. He left Victoria to phone his wife and Danielle, left Victoria to do everything. The squad car from the motorway had arrived within ten minutes, sirens blaring. Helicopters came next, then an ambulance and more patrol cars. Within forty minutes the place was ablaze with portable lamps. Everyone was there but the SAS. Sean allowed no-one near his daughters. Finally, Victoria came to the ambulance door. She sat on the step half in, half out, as if uncertain whether to approach further.

  “Formalities taken care of,” she said, looking up at the stars.

  With the girls present he had no chance to ask the questions. Both knew she had murdered Zoby, the last witness to Richard Caswell. “What you did took courage and fast thinking, stripping off like that,” he said.

  “The nature of the diversion won’t be in my report. Our secret, all of it.” She looked to him.

  “Our secret, but what about your unofficial weapon? Forensics will realise two weapons were used.”

  “Alice will take care of it.” She clasped hands, pressing her fingers, holding them to her chin as if in prayer. “Richard Caswell was born Harry Woods, an East End boy from Hackney. I’ve just been told that during our time at the airport, Harry Woods flew out on a flight to Boston. Alice had no choice but to let him go so he could deliver the SPI files without raising suspicion. I’m informed our American cousins have arrangements for him. Try not to hate me.” She stood slowly on his silence and walked away. He felt cold inside. Cold and bitter.

  When they entered the house, Camilla threw herself into full-blown hysteria, which sent both girls into screaming trauma. Only Danielle’s comforting voice calmed them. Sean watched the four clustered in a group of mutual support then went to the kitchen.

  Bradley mooched ar
ound with waiting psychologists and counsellors. Sean poured him a large whisky before retreating to the study, bottle in hand.

  Silent rage sweated on his skin and burned any tears from his eyes. He felt inadequate as a father, inadequate as a policeman. The darkness of another world had touched his family and he could not forgive. He wanted his report to have effect, to ask the pertinent questions that could not be denied. He poured another drink and stared at the computer screen for half an hour before Cobbart arrived.