by Rees, Kevin
He wanted to see Kat. Or was it he should see Kat as some kind of self-righteous gesture or guilty obligation to the woman he came close to admitting he loved. But since the incursion, everything he knew had changed. Third Bloods. Bloodeaters. Two evolutionary splinters, hidden in an ultra-secretive, covert world, which he was now an unwilling part of. And then there was Maya. Eddie sensed his love for Kat was becoming something looted by events — a spent emotion he could no-longer find a place for in his life. He could feel the shovel had already dug another inevitable relationship grave. Perhaps he was being pragmatic. Kat had closed in on herself and was lost. It could take months of treatment, perhaps years. Even if she did recover she may never want a man to touch her again. He was making so many excuses and knew it. ‘You’re a selfish bastard, Keagan. No fuck — no luck with me, eh?’
‘No fuck — no luck?’
Eddie whipped around to see Maya silhouetted in the doorway holding two mugs with steam rising up into her face. Even in the gloom he could see she had changed back into her drab combats.
‘Sorry,’ Eddie blurted.
‘What for? You seem to be doing some realistic self-analysis and coming to apt conclusions.’
‘Apt conclusions?’ he snorted. ‘My girlfriend is probably psychologically beyond any repair, and I was asking myself if I could martyr the rest of my life and stay with her.’
‘And?’ Maya moved into the room, offering him one of the mugs.
The coffee smelt like fine wine compared to the lukewarm one he drank earlier. He took the cup and drank like a man stranded in a desert. As he drank, he concluded Maya obviously presumed everyone liked very sweet coffee. It didn’t stop him from taking quick sips to counter the heat. It also gave him some time to pick over his thoughts before answering her.
‘And... And, I don’t know. I’d look a shit for abandoning her, wouldn’t I? But I’m not the kind of person who can hold hands and just lay next to someone without intimacy taking place,’ Eddie said, staring over his cup. ‘She’s not coming back from this. At least not as the Kat I knew. There, see? She’s already become a past-tense.’
Maya remained silent, allowing Eddie to reach the conclusion that was practical for him.
‘But I fought so hard to get to her. Why tell you? You were there,’ Eddie said. Maya brought the cup to her lips and he felt the stirrings from earlier begin again. He stopped speaking and gazed at her.
‘Do you want to see her?’ Maya said. ‘Perhaps that will decide your future. Our medics have worked on her, but the prognosis isn’t good.’
‘Yeah, I want to see her.’ Eddie put his cup down and stood waiting for her to lead.
Maya placed her cup next to his. ‘Follow me. There should be enough light. If not hold my hand.’
‘I’ll do that anyway.’ He grinned.
Maya could see his humour was guarding something much deeper. His loyalty was his only bond with the girl. A favourable quality, but badly misguided in this case. Still, he was emerging as someone so different from other men who only wanted her friendship to get closer to her father. Eddie was certainly different, neither knowing nor caring who Karl Felton was. Perhaps that’s what was so attractive about him. Childlike naïvety. Eddie was crawling on all fours and trying to make sense of a brand new world he’d been hurled into. She knew he’d be adaptable and grow quickly into his new life. He wouldn’t be allowed to go back to his old one. Not now.
They turned into a small, dark corridor leading to several converted areas. Signs blacked out by the descending darkness pointed in two directions. What little Eddie could make out shocked him, especially the poor state of the place. It would make a squatter have second thoughts given the damp and disrepair. The building had been condemned for developing, he guessed, after the explosion of high rise flats in the great sixties experiments didn’t meet with twenty-first century needs. All they produced now were ghettos that reached up like dirty fingers poking into the clouds. Eddie had personal experience of living in these urban monstrosities when he left the Army. He lasted four days and got mugged twice, both times the assailants ran away bleeding.
Maya walked ahead of him as if the whole place was lit. ‘She’s in there. The medics have given her sedation to try and calm her mind.’
Maya indicated a door much like the side room Kat had been taken from. For a second, Eddie was reluctant to let go of Maya’s hand. But it was the woman who broke the connection, delighting too much in the sweaty gratification they were both feeling.
‘I’m the only sentry on duty throughout the night for several weeks. My father says it’s my punishment for my disgraceful behaviour and disrespect for Lars’s leadership, and for jeopardising the mission. He’s going to be highly criticised by his superiors.’ Maya turned to leave.
‘Because?’ Eddie said.
‘Because the penalty should be much harsher,’ she replied casually over her shoulder before leaving him alone in the near darkness.
He counted out four steps before the darkness took her away from him. He was a little puzzled by the lack of any lighting, which didn’t seem to bother Maya’s people. He, on the other hand, groped for the door handle.
Maya drew her weapon from a locker and checked it before leaving for the roof. The weather report Cole gave her was favourable. As she made for the stairs her father emerged from the armoury carrying a small bag. Maya noticed how fatigued he’d become with his injury and the burden of Lars’s death. She also noted he was wearing civilian clothes — something her father rarely did.
‘Father!’
‘Maya, shouldn’t you be on the roof?’ he demanded, curtly.
‘I’m on my way up there now. Where are you going?’
‘That’s none of your business, and address me as Commander! I want you to think about poor Lars when you’re up there.’ He thrust a finger towards a door leading up to the roof. ‘And Tork, and the rest. Because of your actions, Lars may have made decisions that cost lives.’ Angrily, Karl pushed passed her.
Maya stood to attention and felt locked into the pose until he left the corridor. Rarely had her father raised his voice to her, not even when she stole one of his guns and accidentally shot a visiting Colonel in the leg when she was ten. Lars and Tork’s deaths were praying on him, but she suspected it was Cole’s injury causing this anger. Her father was naturally calm, unless in warrior state. And what was in that bag? She was sure she heard the chink of brass on brass as he passed. 9mm brass. What was he up to?
Karl slipped out of the high-rise quietly as the guards were changing. For someone who was always in control, tonight that illusion was truly exposed with each step that took him away from everything he held true. As a field commander, his orders couldn’t be countermanded — even the one he made concerning Maya. It should have been left to Aquino to convene a military tribunal as Karl’s relationship had swayed his lenient decision. But, if left to a court, his daughter would have been imprisoned immediately to await her trial. He couldn’t let that happen. His decision would no doubt come back and bite him hard. Some fodder for Aquino’s opponents, especially Thoragan.
Karl stepped out onto the brightly lit streets infested with scurrying people. He could have taken one of the vehicles, but walking might give him the edge, especially if Sixsmith was expecting a blacked out Range Rover. Karl cut through the rush-hour crowds, who parted like biblical waves as he marched down the centre of the pavement. His stature alone was intimidating to anyone faced with a well-built man striding purposefully towards them.
Three men were not as intimidated. The older man saw Karl wasn’t going to give way, and perhaps — for once — they should ignore it. It was the boy who was keen to prove no one was going to make him move aside, especially with the other two backing him up. He tried to stare Karl down as they got closer, but found him oblivious to his threat. Karl walked straight on, scattering the three like small fish avoiding a predator. Two of the men went to his left, forcing the boy to stumble to his right. T
he older man held back as the other two began to swear at Karl.
‘Oi! Fucker! Your arse is mine! Don’t walk away, you cunt!’
Karl seemed to hear the words as an afterthought. He stopped, realising the battle churning inside him to stop his warrior state was lost. The three men would have to accept their actions had just killed them. The pupils of his eyes enlarged into black orbs. ‘I’ll give you just one warning. Walk away quickly.’ Karl turned and faced the three men.
The boy reached inside his pocket and came out holding a flick-knife. He opened the blade with the slightest of clicks, and began cutting the air in front of him. The other two fumbled in their pockets for the weapons that made them feel invincible. The older man took out an ice pick. The third man produced a large kitchen knife. With mock bravado, they advanced on Karl.
‘What are you going to do now…fucking cry old man? The boy had no sense of danger. There was no other possible outcome that could stop them stomping Karl into the ground.
Karl picked him for particular attention and would leave him last. The third man’s adrenalin took over, forcing him to clench his teeth to stop them betraying his fear. He attacked Karl first. The taller man assessed the hammer grip the thug held his knife in was so weak it took nothing to avoid the thrust. He let the arc of the man’s unbalanced swing reach its apex before striking. Karl hit him twice under his armpit, smashing the ribs as easily as if he were snapping pencils in half. The blow sent splintered bone spearing into his right lung, severing the organ in half. Karl’s second punch shattered his shoulder joint, reducing it to a thousand-piece jigsaw of bone fragments. A gout of blood sprayed out in a red arc from the man’s mouth, drowning out any screams. He collapsed silently onto the pavement and lay still.
Several onlookers stopped to watch the confrontation, none willing to help one man against three. But Karl needed this.
The second attack came from the younger man, who hadn’t taken in his friend was on the floor, as the crack cocaine was convincing him the world was ticking at his will. He flicked the knife as he’d seen countless actors do in the films and waved Karl onto him.
‘Benny, for fuck’s sake, leave it! Benny, man, don’t!’
The older man could see his friend’s life was going to end in the next few seconds. He knew it had been a colossal mistake to take on Karl. He rushed forward with a snarl his body had trouble imitating. He held his ice-pick above his head, ready to punch it down into Karl’s skull. Before the point of his weapon had travelled a few inches, he heard a loud crack. He knew the sound had come from somewhere inside his body. Karl had crushed the man’s throat with the edge of his hand. The blow had shattered the bones in his neck as well as crushing his windpipe. The older man dropped onto the unforgiving concrete, smashing his nose and cheekbone. This was — his brain told him — inconsequential, as he was now a quadriplegic with no oxygen. He parted ways with the world just as the message winked out.
The younger man was still moving forward, flicking and stabbing the space between them. He glanced down and saw the bodies of his friends laying on the floor like discarded rubbish. He faltered; trying to work out in the fraction of a second he had left, what had gone so badly wrong. The distraction was all Karl needed. He kicked out and shattered the boy’s forearm. Two jagged, white spears tore through the skin, cutting ragged holes in his shirt. The knife he clenched so tightly fell out of dead fingers. The boy watched it tumble and bounce twice before landing near his feet, as useless a tool as it was moments before he drew it. He turned to look up at Karl who clamped his head in both hands. The boy stared into the frightening face of the man he knew was about to kill him and let go of his bladder. The boy felt cold fingers wrap around his ears and two thumbs slide deliberately along his cheeks to line up underneath his eyes. Karl paused. He wanted the true horror of what he was about to do be the last memory his victim would ever have. Karl brought the boy’s face up to his. There would be no mercy as his thumbs pushed forward. The boy felt Karl’s sharp nails touch, then press hard against his eyeballs. He could hear himself scream and beg in the man’s immoveable grip. Inside his head, he heard his eyeballs pop like squashed grapes. The empty sockets were filled with Karl’s thumbs. He kept pushing until he felt bone, which gave way as easily as if it were an eggshell. The boy breathed out one last time and went limp. Karl watched the life exit from his face before tossing his body onto the other two.
The onlookers moved away quickly, not wanting to be involved — especially with murder. Two women remained, and stood across the road from the killings. They had both been victims of the men’s abuse and violence. As Karl stepped back, having satisfied his need for blood, they clapped loudly. He looked wearily across at them as they moved off together, content with the justice he had inflicted.
Karl heard wailing sirens closing in on him. He couldn’t risk being caught, not before he got his hands on Sixsmith.
Earlier, Karl had sifted through Cole’s data and found an intercepted phone conversation between Sixsmith and an unknown using a voice scrambler. Karl cross-referenced the information from the conversation with known safe houses belonging to his people. He came up with three addresses. One, he knew was no longer operating as a safe house after squatters set fire to it. The other two were at opposite ends of London. Karl knew Sixsmith was a creature that leaned towards the finer things in life. Out of the two addresses, Karl found. One was a luxurious property that had a loose connection to Thoragan. The other was a damp flat in the middle of a housing complex, which had a growing reputation as being the most violent council estate in Britain. Karl guessed Sixsmith would choose to hide in the more comfortable surroundings of Belgravia.
Karl reached an arched entrance to an exclusive London mews with its expensive houses funnelled away from the main road and imposing rows of tall, white-fronted buildings. Leading into the mews was a surface paved with slick cobblestones snaking between the rich properties. Lines of expensive cars parked neatly in front of the houses would provide some cover from the dozens of cameras packed more densely in this area to protect the wealthy owners, which, Karl assumed, were most probably monitoring him as he made his recce. Mindful of his lapse, he moved on.
Without proper planning, he was going in blind — something he never advocated on any mission. Yet, here he was, the master tactician, walking up and down the same street inviting capture. He needed time to focus. If Sixsmith had taken refuge in the house, he would still be there for the next few hours.
The intercepted phone conversation with the unknown, who Karl suspected was Thoragan, had been very tense. Sixsmith couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice, which contrasted with his usual icy self-control. Grovelling persuasion changed to desperate pleading for the man to save him. The conversation went dead before the end. Karl suspected a covert electronic sweep had detected their monitoring device and blocked it.
Karl came to the end of the street and saw a small church sitting in amongst a few trees. At least the grounds would give him cover, and some time to think clearly. He found the gates locked and rattled them in frustration. Karl was unaware his actions were being tracked by three cameras. His description and location had already been fed to several patrolling armed-response cars confirming he was the man they were looking for. The deaths of the three men wouldn’t be allowed to go unpunished, even if the few witnesses reported he was the victim, and the aggressors got what they deserved.
Karl bowed his head and shook his arms out to his sides. With a scream of rage, he grabbed the black wrought iron, and in one explosive movement flexed both arms until they were straight rods. The incredible pressure Karl exerted on the heavy lock shattered the metal. The chain fell with a dull clunk in several pieces around his feet. Karl forced himself to ease down. The Stevat’d teh wasn’t leaving his system quickly enough. Before Karl could find the momentary sanctuary he needed, he became aware of the approach of a van moving slowly along the road with its lights out. He turned towards it and stood, waiting
. Capture would prevent this mission from its execution, and that wasn’t something he could allow. Whoever was in the van would have to be dealt with. Karl figured attack was his only option and ran straight at the vehicle.
The side door opened and a figure jumped out. Something about the silhouette framed by the light slowed Karl’s attack.
‘Whoa there, Commander,’ the figure shouted desperately as he crouched next to the railings.
Karl pulled up. He reached down, hauling the man off his feet, and threatened to impale him on the sharpened ends of the rails. ‘Why are you here?’ he demanded.
Two men wearing black coveralls jumped out of the vehicle. They held pistols trained expertly on his head. Karl recognised them as the other two bodyguards assigned to Sixsmith.
‘Ease up, Commander. We’re on the same side. We want that bastard Sixsmith as much as you do. And by the sound of things, you need to decide quickly, old son.’ The streetlight played off the face of Sam Cornick. He waved for the guns to be lowered. ‘You can put me down now, sir.’
Karl let him go.
Sam motioned for the men to get back in the van. ‘Sir, its time to leave if you don’t want to be arrested for those three scumbags you topped.’
Karl hesitated, but saw the truth in what he was saying. The sirens were closing in. ‘Okay. Take me back to my headquarters.’ Karl got into the van. As soon as the door was shut, the driver took off at high speed.
‘Nice to see you again, sir.’
‘Why are you here? Following me in case I kill your precious Sixsmith,’ Karl insinuated bluntly.
‘Believe it or not we are on the same mission, Commander. My bosses want that slimy fuck out of the picture as well. I’m not an assassin. We leave that to the intelligence boys,’ he said, grinning. ‘But in Sixsmith’s case I stepped forward without being asked. He’s working with someone as yet unidentified to the spooks.’