by Ian Woodhead
“No, I don’t think that. All I’m saying is that if you had come back to us instead of running away, we would have been able to resolve this. Look, what happened in Mongolia was an utter tragedy, but there was nothing we could have done to alter what happened.”
Dane kept silent, still not trusting himself to reply. If what Nelson said was true, then he had wasted all those years blaming the old man for nothing. Finally, he leaned back and peered into the cafe back area, trying to see where that waitress had gone. She was taking way too long.
“If you are looking for the waitress, I gave her twenty pounds to make herself vanish. Don’t worry. I don’t intend to keep you long.”
“What do you want, Nelson?”
“I want us to be friends, but as that’s unlikely to happen anytime soon, let’s just settle for you doing one last job for The Trust. For old times’ sake.”
“Why can’t you get it into your thick head that I’m not interested in putting my neck on the line for the sake of some stupid artefact? I’m finished with The Trust. So please, leave me alone and let me eat my breakfast in peace.”
Nelson shook his head. “Well, if your mind is made up, then I guess I might as well go.” He rose and climbed out of the booth. “Oh, do you mind if I move this,” he added, pointing to the metal salt cellar which stood with the rest of the condiments at the other side of the table. Without waiting for a reply, he leaned across and slid it into the middle of the table.
“What the hell are you doing?”
The older man smiled. “I’m leaving the cafe, just like you requested, Dane. Before I go, I just want you to witness what you are throwing away.” He shrugged. “I so do enjoy rubbing it in, you know?”
Nelson reached into his inside pocket and pulled out something wrapped in dark green cloth. “This came into our possession not long ago.” He placed it on the table beside the salt cellar and carefully pulled back the folds of the cloth.
Dane’s eyes bulged at the sight of the exposed object. At first, he thought it was a ceremonial dagger, but the proportions were all wrong. Also, no self-respecting culture would use anything so plain. “Where did you find this piece?”
“Oh, so you are interested now?” Nelson shrugged again before he recovered the object. “Enjoy your breakfast, Dane.” He picked up the piece and turned around. “I would say it’s been a pleasure, but that would be a lie.”
“Wait!” Dane jumped up. “Stop it with the bloody games, Nelson. Come back here, you bloody idiot.”
The man chuckled. “Got you interested, have I?” He sat opposite and took out the piece again. He unwrapped it and placed the object on the table. “It’s a blade. That much we do know.” Nelson ran his forefinger along the thick handle. “We also suspect that no human created this.” He wrapped his fingers around the handle. “Not unless they had very big hands.”
Dane licked his lips. “Is it off-world?” He watched the other man turn the blade over and spin it until the hilt faced Dane. This could be the Holy Grail, the one piece that proved that Dane was correct about other civilizations visiting this planet sometime in its distant past. He looked into Nelson’s eyes and wondered exactly what this man was playing at here. If this was the bait, then the older man had already caught him, hook, line, and sinker. “Well, is it not of terrestrial creation?”
Nelson laughed softly. “Now you’re putting words into my mouth, Dane. I only said it was non-human. Nobody said anything about bloody aliens.” He leaned over. “Do you still have the necklace that she gave you?”
“Wait, what’s that got to do with anything?”
“May I see it, please?”
Dane sighed before pulling off and dropping the chain into his outstretched palm.
Nelson dropped the chain onto the table while keeping hold of the small green gem. “This is going to sound like a silly question, but have you had this gem analysed?”
“Of course I haven’t! Lindsey told me she picked it up at Hackney market.”
“And you believed her? You’re more naïve than I first believed.” Nelson dug his fingernail into the gap between the gem and one of the metal clasps, popping it out.
“Hey! I didn’t say you could break it.”
The older man picked up the diamond shaped gem between his thumb and forefinger. “What a remarkable piece of engineering. Totally flawless.” He grinned at Dane. “Hidden in plain sight. That girl was more devious than we could ever know.”
“Do you want me to stab you with this thing?”
“This is a green diamond, Dane. An artificially created stone.” He pointed to the base of the hilt. “And we think they used them to power their devices.” Nelson picked up the knife and pushed the gem into the slot at the base.
A low hum filled the area. Dane stared in astonishment as an apple-green haze now encircled the five-inch narrow blade. He’d never seen anything like this in his entire career, not even any hint that such a device had even existed. “What is it?”
Nelson placed the edge of the blade against the top of the salt cellar. He winked at Dane before sliding his hand to the left. The blade cut straight through the metal. Nelson pulled the gem out of the bottom of the knife, wrapped the object up in the cloth, and dropped it back into his inside pocket. He popped the gem into the clasp and handed the necklace back to Dane. “Are you still not interested?”
Dane dropped the necklace into his pocket, suddenly feeling very conspicuous about having it on display around his neck. He picked up the severed top and carefully pressed the tip of his forefinger against the edge and found it to be razor sharp. Dane’s head was spinning over the implications of what he’d just been shown. He also couldn’t discard the fact that Lindsey might not have been so much the innocent first-year research assistant that she had initially claimed to be. He placed both pieces of the salt cellar into his pocket.
“Where did it come from? What about the age? You must have a basic clue as to how old it must be? This is just unreal. The technology alone is beyond our present capabilities. Come on, Nelson. I know The Trust. They always know far more than they are willing to admit.”
“That could really be true, my friend, but you don’t want anything to do with us anymore. You said it yourself.” The man looked into the back area of the cafe and gave a little wave. “You enjoy your breakfast, Dane. I’ll be in touch, if you make the right decisions.” He placed his hands on the edge of the table. “Take care of yourself.”
“Make the right decisions, what the hell is that supposed to mean?
The older man strode over to the door and unbolted it. “You’re supposed to be the archaeologist, meaning you’re excellent at puzzles. Work it out.” He left the cafe and disappeared around the corner before Dane could ask him any further questions.
The waitress gently placed a white plate containing his order on the table beside him. She then reached over and grabbed a salt cellar from the next table and placed it next to his plate. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
Chapter Two
The two suited men that Dane thought he had lost in the perfume section of that department store were now standing on the corner of Pickle Street, pretending to find interest in the window of a fishing tackle shop. Perhaps he ought to ask them if they wanted to swap windows, considering he was pretending to look into a shop that specialised in sex toys.
It couldn’t be a coincidence that just three hours after meeting with Nelson, Dane would find himself being followed. They weren’t part of his dad’s security team. That much he did know. They were far too sloppy. He also discounted The Trust as well. Thanks to Nelson’s theatrics, the bastards had already hooked him. They had no need to follow him around the city.
Whoever they were, he wasn’t going to allow himself to be tailed. Dane waited for the traffic lights to change from red to green before he spun around and raced down the busy pavement. He took a left turn when he reached an alleyway. Heavy footsteps and annoyed shouting told Dane that his followers had managed
to get over that busy road without being hit by a vehicle, and from the sound of it, they were catching up.
Dane stopped by a fire exit. He braced on the door, then vaulted over a high brick wall. A pile of black plastic bin bags broke his fall. He stayed where he lay for a moment and listened to two foreign voices shouting at each other. He grinned to himself, realising that the fire door belonged to the back of a Chinese supermarket.
He peered over the wall and listened as a middle-aged Chinese man told the suited gentleman to bugger off in Mandarin, while the suited gentleman replied in kind with a stream of insults in Ukrainian.
“I can see him!”
Oh crap. Dane hadn’t noticed his other follower turning into the alley. The Chinese man slammed the fire door shut when both men produced handguns from inside their suit jackets.
He jumped off the bin bags and ran across the paved square, heading for the single door in the corner of the building. Dane pushed down the handle and pulled, and found it jammed shut. “I haven’t really thought this through,” he muttered, listening to their footsteps drawing closer.
A pair of hands appeared at the top of the wall, soon followed by a grinning face. It wasn’t an expression of humour either. That was confirmed when the goon managed to get most of his body on the narrow top before aiming his handgun at Dane.
Dane ran back across the square, picked up the closest bag, and threw it at the goon. His aim was true. The bag smacked the suited man right in the face, causing the goon to let off another stream of obscenities in Ukrainian. He scooped up another bag and discovered a tiny pair of black eyes staring back at him.
He risked a quick glance over at the wall and saw the goon was trying to climb down. “Sorry about this, chap,” he whispered, darting forward and snatching up the large brown rat. Dane whistled, and when the goon spun around, he flung the animal at the goon.
Once again, Dane’s aim was true. The squeaking rodent hit the man’s face, feet first.
The goon staggered back, dropped his gun into the rubbish, and cracked the back of his head against the wall.
“Let’s go for the hat trick.” Dane rabbit-punched the already-dazed man, then moved to the side as the goon fell into the bin bags. He retrieved the dropped gun then, pressed his body against the wall.
“Gregori, Gregori?” hissed a voice from the other side of the wall.
“He’s down!” replied Dane, in passable Ukrainian.
Eight fingers and two thumbs appeared right above him. Dane waited until the man’s head made an appearance before he jumped up, grabbed the back of the man’s collar, and pulled him over. Dane followed him down and landed on the other suited man’s chest. Before the second goon could react, he pushed the muzzle of the handgun against the snarling man’s cheek.
“Why are you following me?”
The man’s eyes rolled to the left.
Dane pressed harder. “What, you think I won’t shoot you? Now come on, speak up or kiss goodbye to your face. It’s an easy option.”
The goon’s eyes finally found his. “No, it is you who is to die here, Mr. Gerous. I hear my friends already.”
Dane swore. He heard the approaching footsteps as well. “I should have stayed in bed.” He flipped the gun around and slammed the metal handle against the man’s temple. He grabbed the second gun and ran back over to the wall. There were another three already in the alley. He fired off one shot, finding satisfaction at the sight of them scattering like ninepins. Dane fired again when they got up a little too quickly.
Her ran back to the unconscious man, hurriedly removed his jacket and trousers, put them on, then dragged the man closer to the wall and covered him in bin bags. How long would it take the back-up goons to realise that he was no longer shooting at them? More to the point, how long were they willing to stick around? The local police were bound to be on their way here by now.
He picked up another bin bag and threw it over the wall. A couple of angry shouts told him the other goons were still there. Dane climbed onto to the wall and slowly maneuvered down on the other side. He stayed in the shadows, kept his face down, and limped slowly towards the light, ignoring their questions. Dane knew the bluff wasn’t going to get him out of here. One of them was bound to spot the switch.
The sound of police sirens cut through the general hubbub. Here they came. His gunshots had brought London’s finest to the scene. That was all well and good, but Dane had no intentions of letting the boys in blue keep him locked up while they sorted this out. No chance. He didn’t appreciate complete strangers trying to kill him.
Dane turned around and fell to the floor. Two sets of footsteps approached his still body. He waited until the first one had reached him before Dane jumped up. He wrapped his arm around the goon’s neck and pushed his stolen gun into his back. “We’re going for a walk,” he whispered.
He pushed the goon over to the fire door and banged on it one more time, hoping to God that the owner wouldn’t ignore it this time. Those sirens were getting louder. He only had a few seconds left. One of the remaining goons raised his gun, only for another one to tell him to lower his arm.
One by one, the other goons turned and ran out of the alley, leaving Dane alone with his prize. “Just me and you left, laddie. Isn’t that cosy?”
He grinned when he heard the door opening again. Dane pulled the goon through as soon as the door opened wide enough. It wasn’t the Chinese man this time. Dane found himself facing a furious-looking woman armed with an evil-looking hatchet. She let off a stream of questions too fast for him to understand what she was saying. Dane got the gist of what she wanted, though. The woman wanted him and his friend out of her shop.
He shook his head, painfully aware that two police cars had just squealed close to the entrance to the alley. Dane reached into the goon’s inside pocket. His fingers closed around the man’s wallet. He pulled it out and offered it to the woman, while asking her to shut the door in Mandarin.
It didn’t surprise him to find her attitude completely change at the sight of the bulging wallet. She pulled the fire door shut and laughed at the goon before leading the pair of them through the narrow corridor into the back of the shop. The woman stuck her head through the beaded curtains and asked for strong rope.
Dane pushed the goon down on a wooden chair. He stood back and smiled at the man. He guessed that his captured goon had only just cleared his teenage years, and unlike the seasoned player whose clothes Dane now wore, this guy was clearly scared.
“The woman wants to keep you.” He stroked the barrel of the gun. “She just told me that your corpse will keep her shop in meat for the next two months.”
“Please, I don’t know anything,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter anymore.” Dane stroked the man’s cheek with the gun barrel. “I got everything I needed from the other two. Oh sure, they weren’t going to talk, but the big guy soon changed his tune when I pushed my fingers into his pal’s eyes socket.” Dane leaned further forward, until his nose was almost touching the weeping boy’s nose. “Unless you know anything different?”
The Chinese woman handed him some rope then told the young man that she was going to cut his balls off, in English. It took effort for Dane to keep a straight face.
“I only know that we were supposed to keep you in our sight. It’s just that some of the boys thought that wasn’t enough and—”
Dane jumped when the man suddenly fell off the chair and crashed onto the stone floor. Thick blood pooled around his forehead. He grabbed the old woman and pushed her to the side just as a vase beside the chair shattered. Somebody from outside was shooting at them with a silenced rifle!
“Are you all right?”
The woman nodded.
“I am really sorry about this,” he said. “I didn’t think there would be any danger to you.”
“You call this danger? No, I call it fun.” The woman patted the back of Dane’s hand. “You go now. The police will be here soon. I’ll stay out of sigh
t until they do.” She pointed to his gun. “Give me that.”
“Are you sure you know how to use it?”
She laughed. “You think we reached your glorious country on a pleasure cruise?” She pulled the gun from him. “Not using, I sell, though.” The woman pointed to a narrow grey painted door next to a window. “You go that way. It leads upstairs and onto the roof. There you go west. A hatch drops you into the meat market.”
He kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you,” he said.
She smiled back at him. “No problem. Most joy I’ve had in years.”
Dane crawled over to the door she indicated, silently wished her luck, then threw himself through the door and ran up a flight of metal stairs while listening to the sounds of more police sirens, as well as the voices of a dozen officers, running into the supermarket.
He tipped his imaginary hat towards the Chinese couple before opening the door at the top of the stairs and thanked lady fate for providing him with such gracious hosts. Without their help, it’s likely that whoever had tried to take him down would have succeeded. Dane stepped out into the sun and ran over to the only hatch he could see, hoping that this was the one that the woman had mentioned.
Not that he had any other choice. The police had called in a helicopter, and him darting across the roof was bound to attract their attention. He managed to push back the latch and slide the hatch back. He dropped down, seconds before the helicopter flew past the roof. They had probably spotted him, meaning the police would be converging on the market as well.
It did occur to Dane that perhaps losing Bradley an hour before he’d picked another tail wasn’t one of his brighter ideas. It also occurred to him that old Harry was likely to be calling him all the names under the sun at about this time.
His first job, once he was sure of his anonymity, would be to apologise to the old fella for letting him down. He was intending to make his way up there anyway. After all, that’s where the useless Bradley would be parked.