by G Mottram
‘Stop – both of you. I have a gun.’ His voice was high and reedy but it cut through the wind like a fencing foil.
Jason ignored it and sped up as Miranda shot a look to check on him.
‘Get down, Jason, he’s going to shoot!’ she screamed and leapt back into him.
They both crashed into the heather and rolled down the hill. Miranda pushed him away so they tumbled apart, making two targets instead of one.
By the time they’d both rolled into a crouch, the man stood just ten steps away, rock steady with both hands on a pistol, pointed straight at Jason.
‘Just stay where you are.’ The photographer’s voice seemed to scratch inside Jason’s head... some sort of East European or Russian accent but gratingly thin. He walked slowly towards Jason, dropping his gun to waist height.
Both Jason and Miranda, ten metres apart, knelt absolutely still. Dad had always told them you can’t do anything against a gun or the next second you’ll be dead. And yet…
Jason couldn’t do much crouching down. He slowly stood up, not sure if he should put his hands in the air or not.
The photographer was almost on him, the wind whipping greasy strands of hair across pale skin. His dark, dark eyes held Jason’s stare like the ends of two telescopic sights.
‘What do you want?’ Jason managed to say through the heart pounding in his head. His own voice sounded strange, breathless and echoing in his ears. The man had a gun – it was pointed right at him. One twitch of that trigger…
‘Who are you?’ Jason asked. ‘What do you want?’
The photographer stopped a couple of feet away, still silent. His face was thin and hard as he looked Jason up and down then caught him in that dead-eyed stare again.
‘You can call me Mr Black.’
‘I don’t care what your name is,’ Jason said, ‘what do you want with us?’
‘I only want you, young Master Darillian, just you.’
So this was Dad’s past catching up with them again. The man knew their real name - Darillian. He must be an agent. Jason had to keep the man talking, find out what he wanted and look for his chance.
‘Dar… what? That’s not my name? You’ve got the wrong person. My name’s Jason Willow.’
Could Miranda get away? He could see her in the corner of his eye. If she started edging backwards… if he could just hold Black’s full attention, maybe grab the gun…
Black smiled thinly. ‘Oh I do not think I am mistaken, Jason. We have been looking for your father for such a long time and now, to find he has borne a son… I will be made a prince for bringing you to my master.’
Miranda shifted her weight and Black’s eyes flicked to her and back again. Jason had to distract him.
‘I still haven’t a bloody clue what you’re talking about.’
Black narrowed his eyes a little, then shook his head. ‘I am afraid we have no time for your little games. You must both come with me. If there is trouble, I shoot your sister first.’ He smiled and turned the gun on Miranda. ‘Now – we walk to the harbour.’
Suddenly an engine roared and Grandfather’s Land Rover flew over the hilltop a few hundred metres behind Black. It bounced madly back onto the road then a moment later, swung into the heather and raced towards them.
As Black glanced over his shoulder, Jason snapped his right foot out at Black’s hand and sent the pistol spinning away into the heather. Black swore and dived after the gun.
Jason tripped him up and slammed his whole weight down on Black’s spine, knees first. He slammed his open palm into the back of Black’s head as hard as he could. Black’s face smashed down with a crunch of nose-bone.
The Land Rover roared and whined as it tore through the heather towards them.
‘This is for my mother,’ Jason whispered and pulled back his hand for a neck chop. Before the blow landed, Black suddenly reached up with one arm, grabbed Jason’s coat and threw him off as if he were a toddler.
Jason rolled and flipped to his feet but Black was on him instantly. His fist powered through Jason’s desperate block and burst open his lip.
Jason staggered and crashed onto his back. Through flashing lights filling his vision he could just make out Black leaping for him. Desperately, he kicked up with both feet.
He connected – oh, how he connected. It was as if twin steel pistons had blasted Black away.
Jason struggled to his feet, spitting out blood and shaking his head to clear the swimming lights. His vision cleared enough to see Black lying eight feet away, arms wrapped around his chest. How had he kicked him that hard? A wave of trembling ran through Jason and he bent over, almost retching. He and Miranda needed to get away. He turned to find her.
‘Jason, watch out,’ Miranda shouted, sprinting towards him.
From the edge of his misted vision, Jason saw Black flip to his feet and dash forward, whipping out a long bladed knife as he came.
Blaaaah. The Land Rover horn blared out long and loud but it was still thirty metres away. Jason’s tried to straighten up but his legs buckled.
Black closed in and the silver blade licked out but Miranda flew in from nowhere, one foot outstretched to smashing into Black’s shoulder. He span away, his blade missing Jason by inches. Miranda landed neatly then rushed over to finish him off.
‘No Miranda,’ Jason yelled, ‘he’s too…’
Black twisted in the heather as Miranda stamped down at him and his knife sliced deep into her leg. She cried out, stumbled and tried to roll away. Black rolled and punched down hard on her bloodied leg.
Miranda screamed.
For Jason, the world stalled into slow motion and a deafening wind rushed through his head. Black raised his knife over Miranda and plunged the blade down.
In that instant, Black’s head snapped backwards as if a juggernaut had smashed into it. He whole body cart wheeled off Miranda and he landed metres away in a crumpled heap. Two thin shimmers flashed through the space where his head had been a half second earlier and disappeared into the heather.
But there was no one there. No one had touched him.
The world sped up again and sound rushed into Jason’s head.
The Land Rover roared to a stop between Black and Miranda. Grandfather threw open the door, swung himself on to the bonnet then leapt towards Black.
‘Stay down, boy.’ Old Duncan shouted from the driver’s seat.
There was a sickening crack from the other side of the Land Rover.
Old Duncan glanced out of his window, then switched the engine off.
In the sudden, intense quiet, Jason heard a heather-muffled pounding further up the hill. Dad was sprinting down from the copse, travelling faster than any human should be able to move. He powered over the heather in flying strides, his feet barely touching the ground. Suddenly he was with them. He took in Jason with a glance, leapt passed him and skidded to his knees next to Miranda.
Jason could only stare at him as he pulled out a knife from somewhere and sliced through the leg of Miranda’s blood-soaked jeans in two quick cuts.
‘You’ll be fine, darling. I just need to stop the bleeding. Lie back, breathe deep… be still.’ He wasn’t even out of breath.
Dad’s knife slit the denim into a bandage and in seconds he’d tied it over the wound.
Jason’s mind was freezing to a stop. He stared stupidly at Dad and Miranda. His sister had been a blade away from death.
Grandfather appeared around the Land Rover. ‘He’s dead.’
‘I can’t see anyone else, Mr Darillian,’ Old Duncan wheezed. ‘I dare say there will be a twitching curtain or two in the village, though.’
Jason looked up, his head still swimming with muddled thoughts and motes of light. Old Duncan had somehow got on to the Land Rover’s roof. He was standing there, shotgun in hand, like some old-timer on a Western stagecoach.
‘Ow,’ Miranda groaned as Dad adjusted the denim bandage around her leg.
‘You all right?’ Jason asked, stumbling ov
er to her. He didn’t know what else to say.
‘Oh I’m just bloody perfect,’ Miranda said, lifting her head up and staring at him. ‘Do you know how much these jeans cost me?’
Jason felt himself smile. Miranda was going to be all right. ‘Um… thanks for… you know…’
‘Saving your life? Don’t worry about it - I’ll find some way for you to pay me back.’
Dad touched her cheek with one hand smeared in her blood and winked at her. ‘I think you probably will at that, sweetheart.’ He stood up and pulled Jason tightly to him. ‘Are you all right, Son?’
Jason hugged him back - a bit awkwardly. ‘I’m fine, Dad but… what happened? It’s that photographer who was watching us at the airport isn’t it? Is… was he another agent?
Grandfather cut in, his eyes narrowing to glints of obsidian and turning on Dad. ‘You didn’t bother to investigate why he was so interested in you?’
‘He only glanced over at us,’ Jason almost shouted. This wasn’t Dad’s fault.
‘I checked,’ Dad said calmly, ‘he seemed to be part of a pack of paparazzi. And he wasn’t on our plane.’
Grandfather stepped right up to Dad. ‘You’re a fool, Richard. You should haven’t have taken any chances.’
‘This is not… the old country, Father. Things are different here… they do not have the manpower to consistently cover the smaller airports.’
Grandfather flung out one hand over the Land Rover’s bonnet. ‘So what the hell is this corpse doing there? Wake up Richard - they’re spreading like a cancer into the West. We must live here as if we still hunted in the Carpathians.’
‘So I should have killed him – right in the middle of the airport? I’d have a dozen other photographers taking our pictures and airport security arresting us. We’d be all over the national press tomorrow and trapped in a police cell waiting for them to fetch us.’
Grandfather shook his head. ‘Have you forgotten everything? There are ways… You’re going to get the rest of your family killed, as well Richard.’
‘Over my dead body,’ Dad said.
Jason glanced up at him. Sometimes, when he was really focussed or angry, Dad’s eyes turned to ice. They froze over now.
‘Quite probably,’ Grandfather said, taking a step back from Dad. He slammed his fist into one of the Land Rover doors. ‘You’re not enough to keep them safe - the boy needs to know how to defend himself properly, he needs to be trained in his Gift.’
‘Stop now,’ Dad said, ‘or I swear you will never see your grandchildren again.’
Grandfather drew in a breath to answer but Miranda cut in.
‘When you men have quite finished yelling at each other, I’d rather like to stop bleeding to death.’ She struggled to sit up in order to glare properly at Dad and Grandfather with equal vehemence.
Dad stared at his father for a moment longer then turned his back on him. His eyes softened immediately. ‘Sorry, darling. I’ll put you in the back seat where you can stretch out and we’ll stitch you up back at the castle.’
Dad gently lifted Miranda and helped her inside the Land Rover, trying not to jolt her. Miranda, amazingly, didn’t complain or whimper.
‘I’ll take Robbie,’ Grandfather grunted and he whistled once.
A snort came from the pines two hundred metres up the hill and Robbie, Grandfather’s fastest stallion began to trot down towards them.
Willow chewed his lip. If Dad had been riding why would he leave the horse there? Had he been running faster than a young stallion could gallop to rescue them?
‘Take them back to the castle, Duncan,’ Grandfather said, ‘then come back for the bodies.’
‘Bodies?’ Jason asked. ‘Who else…’
‘Mikhail’s dead,’ Grandfather spat. ‘I set him to following the newcomer the moment he left the castle. It seems your “photographer” was rather handy with that knife of his.’
Robbie arrived, tossing his head and snorting at the smell of blood. Grandfather took his reins to calm him. ‘Leave immediately, Richard - get the boy out of here.’ He called back without turning around, his voice resigned. ‘There’s a chance this one wanted the glory of capturing Jason all for himself. If not…’
Grandfather hesitated, glancing back at Jason and Miranda. ‘… more will be on their way, a lot more.’
Grandfather swung up into Robbie’s saddle. The big stallion pranced on the spot and as he turned, Jason saw a Japanese sword, a katana, strapped to the saddle. Grandfather gathered the reins and kicked Robbie into a gallop.
‘Come on, Son.’ Dad said, from the back seat next to Miranda.
Jason stared at him without moving – the last few minutes flashing through his head. He and Miranda had almost been killed.
‘Jason, come on,’ Dad said, ‘we have to leave. We’ll talk all this through on the journey.’
Jason climbed into the Land Rover, carefully keeping his eyes away from the corpse sprawled in the heather just feet away.
Dad had better give them some answers this time.
Chapter 4
‘What happens if that Black guy wasn’t working alone?’ Jason asked. ‘Will Alan Brash relocate Grandfather as well now?’
He, Miranda and Dad were sitting alone in an old fashioned compartment of a rickety old train rattling its way down the west coast of Scotland.
They’d left their grandfather within an hour of the agent attack that morning. Old Duncan had sped along forest and mountain roads to drop them in a sleepy fishing town on the west coast where they’d just caught the last train. Flying, of course, was now out of the question so they had a complicated series of line changes ahead of them before they could pick up their car from Leeds-Bradford Airport.
Dad shook his head. ‘Your Grandfather would never leave now – he’d rather stand and fight. Besides, he’s kept himself hidden from Brash all these years – he trusts him even less than I do.’
‘But what if they send a lot more agents up there?’ Miranda said.
‘Mawn’s a good place to defend – maybe safer than running,’ Dad said. ‘Besides, from what you’ve told me it sounds as if Black was trying to grab all the credit for capturing you by himself.’
‘Well, that’s another thing,’ Jason said, ‘Black said something about finding out you’d had a son. But they must have known about me from the attack in the car park.’
‘Maybe,’ Dad agreed, ‘but there’s always a lot of in-fighting amongst the agents – vying for power and so on. They don’t always share information throughout their organisation.’
‘This organisation,’ Jason started, ‘don’t you think we’re “grown up” enough to know about them now? We were both nearly killed today and we still don’t know why.’
Dad held his stare for a moment then glanced at Miranda.
‘Jason’s right Dad,’ she said, ‘even after Mum being… you know… we’ve haven’t tried to rush you but now…’
Dad held up his hands. ‘Okay… okay.’ He tugged out the bag of mint humbugs he always seemed to have tucked away in one pocket or another and offered them around. Then he took a long breath then sat up straighter in the sagging bench seat.
‘Once I tell you about this,’ he began, casting a sharp glance at Jason, ‘I don’t want you thinking about doing anything… stupid.’
Jason shrugged. ‘We just want to know, Dad.’
Dad searched his face for a moment longer then nodded. ‘I’m not going to tell you everything – you don’t need to know all of it, not yet,’ Dad raised one pacifying hand as Jason slumped back. ‘… but you deserve to know more than you do now, so here it is.’
‘Twenty two,’ Dad brushed one hand back through his hair, ‘no twenty three years ago now, I left an organisation that most of the world has never heard of. It’s called the Watch. They’re based deep in the Carpathian Mountains in the heart of the Balkans.’
‘The Watch?’ Jason asked. ‘So what did you do, Dad – were you some sort of spy?’
> Dad dropped his eyes for a moment then looked up, almost defiantly. ‘The Watch hunt down and kill people, Jason - evil people who are killers themselves and who want to force their disgusting practices and beliefs on all of humanity. They call themselves the Brethren.’
‘Like fanatics, you mean, religious fanatics… eradicate the unbelievers and all that?’ Miranda asked.
‘Sort of…’ Dad began, ‘you could call them a type of cult, I suppose. They instigate distrust and hatred between all the different religions and nations so we won’t stand together when they’re powerful enough to come out of the shadows.’
‘So were you in MI5 or 6 or something,’ Jason said, ‘like Spooks on T.V.?’
Dad shook his head. ‘No – I told you, hardly anyone knows that the Watch or the Brethren even exist – and that includes governments.’
‘So who authorises this… this Watch to hunt down these people, Dad?’ Miranda asked, her face intent.
Dad smiled thinly. ‘No one does.’
‘Then you’re acting outside of any laws or controls or anything?’ Miranda pressed.
Dad nodded. ‘The Brethren have to be stopped quietly – there would be mass panic and witch hunts if people found out about what they do… how they damage people in ways you’d never believe. The Watch is there to protect us without causing worldwide chaos.’
‘But governments work together to fight terrorists all the time – religious, racist, environmental… all sorts. We all know about them. What’s so terrible about these Brethren that only a secret, unaccountable organisation should even know they exist?’
‘That’s something I’m not going to tell you yet.’
Miranda shook her head and looked at Jason. From years of pleading, tantrums, silences and arguing they both knew it would be useless to press their father for information he didn’t want to give.’
‘So why did you leave?’ Jason asked finally.
Dad was obviously prepared for this question. He answered calmly. ‘The things we had to do to stop the Brethren were unbearable. I just couldn’t do it anymore.’