by John Holt
Duncan remained silent. He stood up and walked over to the drinks cabinet located at the side of the room. He looked over at Reynolds. Reynolds remained seated, holding his head, and staring down. Duncan poured two glasses of whiskey. He then walked back to where Reynolds was seated, slumped in his chair. His face was ashen.
“Frank,” Duncan said placing the glass down in front him. “Take that. Drink it down. You’ll feel better.” Reynolds said nothing. “Come on Frank, you’re just a little upset, that’s all.” Duncan paused and looked at Reynolds. “There really is nothing to worry about though, nothing at all.”
He sat down opposite Reynolds. Reynolds had not moved, and still remained silent. “Frank, listen to me. You help me, and I’ll help you. It’s that simple.” He took another drink. Still there was nothing forthcoming from Reynolds. “All you have to do is present a bill authorizing major development in the valley. Make sure that it is passed. Then all of the documents that I have will be returned to you, every single one.” Duncan took another drink. “No problem. You can then burn them. Do whatever you like with them. I’ll help you. No more copies. And it will all be over.” Duncan placed a hand on Reynolds shoulder. “And you and I will be rich, immensely rich. What do you say to that? Sound good?”
Reynolds looked straight ahead, staring. He pushed Duncan’s hand away. He said nothing. He looked at the glass standing in front of him. He picked it up and drank the contents. He knew then that he was completely trapped. He had nowhere to go, and very little choice, if any. Prison was staring him in the face whichever way he turned.
“Think about it Frank,” Duncan said. “Take your time. I’ll give you a call in the morning, and we’ll talk some more.” He finished his drink and stood up. “Till tomorrow then,” he said, and quickly walked away. “This has been a pleasant evening, very pleasant indeed. But I always enjoy our little talks together, don’t you?” He quietly closed the door after him.
Reynolds continued to sit, staring into space. This could not be happening he murmured. It has got to be a dream, a bad dream. But he knew differently, this was no dream, this was reality. Suddenly he lunged out with his right arm, sending his glass crashing to the floor, smashing into a dozen pieces. At the sound of the noise the door opened and Jarvis rushed in. “Is anything wrong, sir?” he asked.
“Get out,” Reynolds screamed. “Get out. Get out.”
* * *
There was another loud clap of thunder. Reynolds woke with a start. He looked at his watch. It was eight forty-five. He had been asleep for a little over an hour. He stretched his arms out in front of him, and yawned. He rubbed his eyes. The sleep had not helped. Indeed, he actually felt worse, if that were possible. His eyes ached, and his neck hurt from the position in which he had been laying. His shoulders felt stiff. He felt cold, and began to shiver. Huge black rain clouds were forming, and it was beginning to get dark. He poured himself another cup of coffee. He picked up the cup, and drank it. It was cold. He threw the cup to the ground. Then he heard the sound of footsteps approaching behind him. He looked around. It was Jarvis. He was holding a portable telephone.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. But there’s a call for you, it is Mr. Duncan,” he said handing the handset to Reynolds. Reynolds’ hands were trembling. “Is anything wrong, sir?” asked Jarvis.
Reynolds looked up at Jarvis. “No there’s nothing wrong”, he said hushed. Nothing wrong at all, except my life is over. He looked directly at Jarvis. “I’ll call if I need you.” He then watched as Jarvis started back towards the house. Then he took a deep breath, and placed the handset to his ear. He could hear breathing on the other end of the line, and then there was a voice calling, “Frank, Frank. Are you there?”
“Yes Ian,” he said feebly. “I’m here.”
“Oh Frank, I can hardly hear you. It must be a bad line,” said Duncan. “How are you?” Then without waiting for a response he continued. “Did you give any more thought to our little discussion of last night?”
Reynolds said nothing, still hoping for a way out. “Frank. Frank,” Duncan called. “Are you still there? I can’t hear you.”
“Yes, Ian,” said Reynolds, wishing that he could have been somewhere else, anywhere else. “I’m still here. I’ve no-where else to go, have I?”
“Now Frank, don’t be foolish,” Duncan coaxed gently. “Things will be just fine, you’ll see. We’ll work something out. Trust me, I won’t let you down. Come on now. What do you say?”
“I don’t seem to have much of a choice do I?” Reynolds replied. “You seem to be holding the winning hand.” He paused for a moment or two. “I’ll do it. I have to do it.”
“That’s great, Frank, I’m glad to hear it,” Duncan said enthusiastically, completely overlooking Reynolds final comment. “That is terrific news. You won’t regret it, I promise you that. I’ll look after you. You know that don’t you?”
Reynolds was far from convinced. Duncan’s promises had proved to be hollow and worthless in the past. Shown to be completely meaningless. He dismissed the promise out of hand. It was of no value, but he knew then that he was completely under the control of Duncan. Whatever Duncan wanted in the future, he would have no option but to go along with him, whatever it was. “What exactly do you want me to do?” Reynolds asked.
Duncan explained in detail what was actually required. “It’s simple really. It won’t be a problem, not for you,” Duncan said. “I’ll look after the other Committee members. Just leave that to me. But Frank, just remember you have to wait until we have purchased the land before you do anything.” Reynolds said nothing. Duncan waited a few more moments before continuing, expecting a response. There was none. “Frank, we don’t want this to get out until we are ready, do we?” Duncan said. “Do you understand, Frank?” Still there was no response. “Frank, Frank,” Duncan called. “Do you understand?”
“I understand you, perfectly,” Reynolds replied, and put the handset down. He looked out across the lawn, and beyond across to the other side of the lake. “What have I done?” he whispered.
Whatever it was he knew that he had no choice. He knew that there was no way out. There was another loud clap of thunder, and it started to rain, lightly at first, gradually becoming heavier.
Chapter 9
The Report
It was a little after one thirty that afternoon when the document landed on Duncan’s desk. Colin Jackson had been expecting it since early that morning. He had just finished some filing when he heard the outer lobby door swing open, hitting the adjacent wall with a loud crash. Then he heard the throbbing sound of the music. Music did he say? It was certainly nothing like any kind of music that he had ever known. It was just an indistinguishable buzz, and constant throb.
Jackson looked up across the office, through the glazed partitioning to the outer lobby. Walking slowly through the lobby area towards the door to his office was a young man. Walking was not strictly the correct term. He seemed to be strutting, swaying from side to side, his head constantly nodding in time to the throb. The so-called music was coming from an earpiece draped over his left ear. He was dressed in black motorcycle leathers, from top to bottom, his thick leather boots leaving a black oily trail in the plush beige carpet. He was carrying a crash helmet and a pair of leather gloves in one hand. In the other hand was a plastic wallet. On the outside of the wallet was written the words “Express Couriers”, with an express train logo in the right hand corner.
He opened the door without knocking, and walked over to Jackson’s desk. He placed the helmet and gloves on the desk, knocking a number of papers to the floor as he did so. He then made a slight adjustment to the music player attached to his waist, lowering the volume slightly. Then he opened the wallet, took out a large brown envelope, and threw it casually on to the desk, disrupting several more documents in the process.
“Package for Duncan,” he announced loudly. His mouth was constantly working, as he chewed on a piece of gum. His head was still nodding in t
ime to the noise emanating from the earpiece. He then unzipped the top part of his tunic, and took out a small pad. He passed it to Jackson. “Sign there,” he said, as he leaned forward pointing. “There, in the box.”
Jackson was worried that in leaning forward the young man would send even more items crashing to the floor. In that regard he quickly removed a wooden picture frame, containing a photograph of his wife and young son, and placed it inside a drawer.
“Right at the bottom of the page,” the young man continued with his instructions, beginning to sound impatient. “Sign and then print your name, and then put the time and date.”
Jackson gritted his teeth. He did not take kindly to instructions from the hired help. It was beneath him. Besides he knew exactly what needed to be done. He quickly signed, and dated the pad, and passed it back to the man. The man took hold of the pad. He glanced at it casually, to check that it had, in fact, been signed, and dated. He then flipped the pad closed, returned it to the inside of his tunic, and re-secured the zip. He then continued to wait, shuffling from one foot to the other.
He’s waiting for a tip, Jackson thought, horrified. Visions of black marks on the carpet, and documents all over the floor, flashed through his mind. Well he can just whistle for it. “Was there anything else?” Jackson asked innocently. Then, without waiting for an answer, he walked past the man, over to the door and opened it. “That’ll be all, then, won’t it?” he said, as he stood at the open doorway. “You can go now, thank you.”
The young man made an inaudible comment under his breath, turned and looked towards the door. He then looked back at Jackson, and glared. He picked up his gloves, and helmet, and spun around. Three more documents were swept off of the desk and on to the floor. He hurried out of the room. As he reached the outer door he stopped, and turned. He glanced back at Jackson, and then turned the volume up to the maximum. He then walked out slamming the door behind him.
Jackson watched until the young man was completely out of sight. He closed the door to his office, and returned to his desk. He took the picture frame out of the drawer, and carefully placed it back into its precise position on to the desk. He looked down at the documents strewn across the floor. He would have to deal with those later. The black stains on the carpet would also need attention later. He would probably need to bring in professional cleaners.
In the meantime, though, the important item was the envelope. He picked it up, and examined it closely. Apart from Duncan’s name, and the address of the office, there was nothing else on the envelope, except for a red seal across the flap, and a sticker advertising “Express Couriers.”
Jackson had been given strict instructions. He was to take the document into Duncan as soon as it had arrived. There was to be no delay. It didn’t matter what Duncan was doing at the time, or if he was with anyone. He was to be interrupted, and the document delivered straight away.
Jackson stood up and walked the short distance to the door of the Chairman’s office. Across the middle of the door were the words Ian Duncan, Chairman and CEO. He tapped on the door. He waited for a few moments. He then tapped again, and then, without further delay, he entered the room.
“Mr. Duncan, sir, I’m sorry to disturb you,” he said. “But the document that you were waiting for, it has just arrived.” He held the package in the air.
Duncan stood up and walked around the desk, over to the doorway where Jackson was standing. “Who brought it?” he asked, talking the envelope out of Jackson’s hand. Jackson replied that it had come by courier. “Bring him in here,” Duncan instructed. “I have a little job for him.”
Jackson was stunned. The last thing he wanted was that, that, that thing, back here. “He has already gone, sir,” he replied nervously.
“Well get him back,” Duncan instructed.
“Certainly sir,” Jackson replied. “Straight away, sir.” He would arrange for a Courier Service, no problem. It just would not be Express Couriers that was all.
Duncan took hold of the document. “Has anyone else seen this?” he asked. Jackson shook his head. Nobody else had seen it. “That will be all,” Duncan snapped, and waved a curt dismissal to Jackson. “I’ll call you if I need you.” Jackson started to leave. Just as he reached the door Duncan called out once more. “Don’t forget that Courier?”
Jackson had not forgotten. In fact with the mess he now had to clear up, he did not think he would ever forget that particular Courier. He turned smartly, and left the room.
Duncan returned to his seat. He picked up the internal telephone. When the call was answered, he merely instructed that there were to be no calls, and all appointments for the rest of the day were to be cancelled. He did not want to be disturbed. He replaced the receiver.
He then picked up the envelope. He was gratified to notice that the seal was intact. He turned it over. The envelope had not been tampered with in any way. He broke the seal, and opened the envelope. Inside were a dozen or so sheets of paper, stapled together. There were also a number of maps, and photographs. He scanned the document quickly, impatiently. When he had finished, he turned back to the first page, and started to read through once again, although much slower this time. When he had finished he sat back in his seat, a wide grin slowly spreading across his face. He then started to laugh.
He stood up and moved over to the corner of the office, where he kept a drinks cabinet. He poured himself a scotch, a large one. He then added some water, and returned to his desk. He glanced through the papers once more, slowly sipping his drink. When he had finished studying the document he picked up the papers, and placed them back inside the envelope. As he did so he started to go over the events in his mind.
He looked over at the calendar on the wall. The nineteenth. Apartment 407, Marshall. That’s when he had first spoken with Anthony Shaw? Was it really one month ago? Just thirty days since he had sent him down to Rosemont Valley. He could hardly believe it, time passed by so quickly. He started to tap the envelope. As he did so he recalled another document that he had recently read.
* * *
The Marshall Building is a modern apartment block, just a short drive from Duncan’s office. Apartment 407 is a one-bedroom suite. It is tastefully furnished, although not elaborately so. At the far end of the room there is a large desk, with a leather chair. Opposite is a well stocked drinks cabinet. Along one wall there is a large sofa. Next to it is a small table. Scattered around are a number of armchairs. Apart from the main room there was a bedroom, bathroom and a small kitchenette. The suite was rented in the name of Latimer Holdings Incorporated.
Duncan finished reading. He slowly closed the document, and placed it on the desk. As he did so there was a knock on the door. He looked at his watch. “Right on time,” he murmured. He liked punctuality. It said a lot about a person. It suggested that they were reliable, trustworthy, and honest, all extremely rare qualities in the modern world. It also suggested that they were out to please. He liked that too. People like that were easy to control. There was another knock, louder this time. Duncan collected his papers together, and placed them inside the desk drawer. He locked the drawer, and placed the key in his inside pocket. He stood up, walked to the door and opened it.
Standing in the corridor, was a young man, in his late twenties. He had dark brown hair, and grey green eyes. He was tall, slim and athletic. “Good afternoon,” he said nervously. “Mr. Latimer? I’m Anthony Shaw. I believe that you are expecting me. Mr. Jackson arranged it. I’m not late am I?”
“Certainly Mr. Shaw,” Duncan responded. “Welcome, it’s good to see you. No you’re not late in fact you are right on time. I like that. It shows a responsible attitude. Do come in.” He stood to one side to allow the young man to pass through. “Have a seat,” Duncan continued, pointing to the sofa.
Duncan closed the door. He stood for a few moments, looking at the young man as he sat down and made himself comfortable. “Can I get you anything?” Duncan asked as he walked over. “I’m having a whiskey.�
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Shaw was beginning to relax a little. That sounded good to him. “With a little water, thank you,” he replied. Duncan moved over to the corner of the room to fetch the drinks. A few minutes later he returned. He offered a glass to Shaw. “Here you are. I hope that there’s not too much water,” he said, as he sat down. “Now how is that?” Shaw signified that the drink was fine. “Now tell me a little about yourself, Mr. Shaw.”
Shaw started to feel slightly nervous once again. He took a drink. His hands started to sweat. He suddenly felt quite hot. Duncan sensed Shaw’s unease. “Now just relax, Mr. Shaw. Or may I call you Anthony?”
“Anthony is fine, sir,” he stammered.
“That’s a fine name,” Duncan said. Shaw began to relax once more. “I understand that some time ago you had actually applied for a position in one of my companies. Is that right?”
Shaw confirmed that he had indeed applied for a position about eighteen months previously. “I’m afraid I was unsuccessful,” he said. “Apparently I wasn’t what they required at that particular time. They said they would keep my details on file, if that was acceptable. They would contact me if anything turned up.”
“That’s the way it goes sometimes. I’ll have a word with my Personnel people, if you like. See what they can do,” Duncan responded. “So they kept your details. Did you ever hear anymore from them?”
“Yes I did,” Shaw replied. “It was nothing of a permanent nature, unfortunately, but I did get two or three small research projects from them. You know, on a freelance basis.” He paused for a few moments. “They were quite interesting, but they didn’t last long.”