by Paul A. Rice
Jane agreed, ‘Yeah, you’re right, but I really didn’t expect him to do that, you know? I’m just glad that we only saw the outline, I wouldn’t have wanted to actually be there!’
Ken made a mental promise to himself – he would try his damnedest to ensure that she wasn’t around if it did come down to any proper blood-letting. Hearing the toast popping up, he reached for the butter and some plates. Mike stayed quiet, but even so he still managed to chomp his way through several rounds of the crusty farmhouse toast. Ken kept re-supplying the table until they were done. After their impromptu breakfast they sat with a fresh drink and mulled over the events of the previous day.
‘I guess we can get out of this anytime we want,’ Mike said, finally breaking his self-imposed silence. ‘Sorry I’ve been a bit moody, but, well… you know?’
‘Yeah, we do, Mike. It’s cool, this ain’t easy for anyone, but we made the decision, so I vote that we stick with it for a while. After all, we are supposed to be doing some good, aren’t we?’ Ken said, as he looked at them. ‘Listen, we just have to stay focused here,’ he suggested. ‘This is bad, I know. But let’s simply get on with it, maybe there’ll only be a couple of these jobs and then it will all be over.’ He didn’t really think they were in a position to turn back now anyway, it was just something within him, a feeling of absolute calmness, pulling on his mind. They had to see this through, Ken knew that with certainty.
He looked seriously at them, saying: ‘Without wanting to make things worse, just remember that it was George, via Mike, who told us that we may well have to kill people. All three of us had that talk and all of us agreed, didn’t we? What I’m saying is that McBride wasn’t really a kill, as such. You know, we may well have to actually top someone, face-to-face?’ He rose from the table and stood above them. ‘Just think about that,’ he said. ‘It’s what we’ve signed up for here, so…’ He finished there, letting the unspoken words have their own say.
Ken also made them keep busy, and under his supervision the blues soon passed. He made them check the equipment and then pack everything in its correct place. The activity helped them refocus and soon they were back on a more even keel. Mike powered up the Communicator once more, in the hope that there would be some information waiting for them, but there was no sign of George and no messages waiting for them, either.
So, with nothing better to do, they decided upon a quick walk. It wasn’t long before they’d taken to the hills for an hour. It was a wise choice – the fresh air whisked the lead from their steps and quickly cleansed their clouded minds.
An hour later and they were back down at the lodge, helping Ken get the firewood ready. As he watched Jane and Mike larking about with the dogs, he smiled to himself in relief, but also somewhat remorsefully.
‘I wish I didn’t have this Devil in me,’ he thought, ‘I wish I could just tell George to piss off, and then walk away and never look back. But I can’t, I like this stuff!’ He split the last log with an accurate blow, straightened to his feet and gave the other two a shout.
‘Right, that’s about enough wood to light a fire for a week,’ he said. ‘I vote we chill out for the rest of the day, what do you think?’ Grabbing an armful of logs, Ken headed into the house with the other two close behind.
They didn’t get the chance for too long a rest.
It was at about eight o’clock that evening when the Communicator’s light started flashing again, its glow radiating into the lounge where the trio were lying sprawled across the large couches. Mike was on the long three-seater, shoes off and apparently dead to the world. Ken and Jane were top ‘n tailed on the four-seater. She was also half-asleep, whilst Ken, who was more than wide awake, lay staring at the ceiling with the drone of the TV a distant hum in the back of his mind.
He felt the Dragon within, it had awoken and the fire it breathed illuminated that terribly dark corner of Ken’s past. The killing days, and all they had meant, were back. His mind raced with the thought of their next task. He hoped it would be that prick, Peters. As the light hit the walls of their warm room, he sat up, slid his legs over Jane’s and swivelled until he was able put his feet on the floor. He rose carefully, so as not to disturb her, and then reached over to Mike.
Shaking him, Ken whispered: ‘Mike, something’s happening with your gizmo.’
Mike opened his eyes and then rubbed both hands across his face, before sitting up and yawning. ‘Yep, I saw it – I was hoping it was just my imagination,’ he said, before standing up and making his way into the kitchen.
Ken turned to see if Jane was awake, smiling when he saw she was already on her feet. ‘What is it, what’s happening – is there some news?’ she asked, yawning loudly. He grinned at her and nodded towards the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and followed him to where Mike was waiting at the table with his machine in full flow.
George apologised for the lateness of his call. ‘I am terribly sorry to disturb you,’ he said. ‘I know that it is late, and I am also aware of the fact that you have had a very difficult night…’ He waited for a response. There was none. With a nod, the old man continued. ‘Well done on yesterday, by the way,’ he said, ‘I did not contact you as I know things may have become quite traumatic.’ He looked sternly through the screen at them. ‘However, this time things will be a bit more personal, I am afraid to say, and that is not something I would want at this particular moment. But, unfortunately, the subject has killed once more and…’ George paused, before saying: ‘Well, it is as though he has twisted in some way, inside. His hunger does not seem to be sated – we fear his next victim will be taken much sooner than was thought.’ He shook his head in annoyance.
‘Is it Peters?’ Ken asked, looking at his partners.
They saw the fire within his eyes. It wasn’t something Jane had ever seen before. Mike had, though, on more than one occasion.
George gave it to Ken, gave it to him straight. ‘Yes, he will be with his latest victim in the woods at dawn tomorrow,’ he said, in a low voice.
‘What about Susan, where is she, George? He hasn’t taken her yet, has he? Please tell me that he hasn’t taken her!’ Ken almost shouted out the questions, his hands clenched into balls, words lancing through the atmosphere. Their passionate volume caused George to blink, just the once.
He drew a breath and said, ‘Stay calm, Kenneth. Peters does not have Susan, not yet. But he is planning on taking her soon. We need you now – this one is going to be difficult. We require your inner strength, your fire!’
It was Ken’s chance to blink. The reference to that particular element, the one he had only just been thinking about, shocked him. ‘I knew the old bastard could read minds,’ he thought, angrily. ‘Well, if you can read minds, George – then hear this: just shrink me down right now, I’ll go and get the bastard and then it will be game over, okay?’ He stared at the old man and waited for some sign.
There was no acknowledgement of his attempted telepathy.
Instead, George calmly gave them their instructions and began transferring all of the information into the Communicator. Mike used the same little disc over and over again, at the end of a mission always erasing every piece of data about it.
Ken had thought about the implications of that, what if they made a mistake, how would they prove they were not simply a gang of random vigilantes? But, then again, who in hell would believe their tale anyway? No, either way, they were screwed. Ken knew that their only salvation lay in immaculate planning and even better execution. He also knew in reality that it was exactly what they were – random vigilantes. It was just so happened to be that they had some really good assistance, out-of-this-world assistance. He smiled bitterly to himself and turned to listen to the old man’s voice.
The latest briefing was very concise and almost impersonal in the way in which it was delivered. When it had ended and without further ado, George had gone. He’d very politely said goodnight and wished them well, but he hadn’t hung around. After he had gone, faded ba
ck into the screen and left them with his latest gift, one which it appeared that only Ken really wanted to unwrap, they sat and watched the playback. The time to go and take care of Peters had arrived. After fifteen minutes the screen darkened. Much to the others’ relief, it was he, Ken, who assumed command of the briefing.
He stood up and said, ‘So, by the looks of things, Peters is going to be there at about four am, we need to get into his place and get the things, the evidence that he has stashed away. Mike and I will go onto the property.’ He looked across at his friend. Seeing Mike nod, Ken continued. ‘Jane, you sit up in the lay-by and text me when you see him on the Scanner,’ he said. ‘I’ll have my phone on vibrate…’ She also nodded and continued to listen to her husband’s rapid-fire instructions.
‘We’ll use the lay-by up the road from his cottage as our destination point,’ Ken said, staring at Jane. ‘You can watch the house from there. As soon as he’s in, then you come and join us. Check the Scanner first, and if there’s anybody else around, then just wait until they’ve gone, okay?’ Jane gave him a thumbs-up. Ken smiled and turned to Mike, asking: ‘Is there anything new on the disc?’
Mike looked up from the machine, said it was a negative, the download had completed, and what they had was it. No more information. ‘All we have to do is to stick it in the Spear tomorrow and away we go,’ he said. With a touch of his hand, he ejected the disc and closed the Communicator down.
With a practised ease, the trio checked over their equipment, placed everything neatly away in the red case and then laid the whole lot on the kitchen table. Ken made sure Mike had his gloves and then placed a strip of the blue tablets where they would not be forgotten. After a final check they were done – Ken suggested they get some sleep as it was going to be a very early rise and he needed everyone to be as fresh as possible. By Mike’s calculations, they would have the job done and be back in the lodge by six the following morning, providing it all went well, that is.
***
At just gone two o’clock the next morning, and after a few hours of fitful sleep, Ken dragged himself from under the warm quilt to make his way to the shower. He cranked up the heat and stood under the searing needles of hot water, letting them blast away the weariness from his mind and body. After finishing with the shower, and showing his mouth a quick flash of the toothbrush, he climbed into his clothes and headed downstairs for a rendezvous with the kettle. Walking past Mike’s room on his way to the kitchen, he was pleased to see the sliver of light shining from under the Australian’s door. ‘I’ll get the brews on and take one up to Jane; she must be shattered with all of this…’ Ken felt a pang of guilt at the thought. He, personally, was filled with excitement. Any thoughts of tiredness had been long since washed away by hot water and adrenaline.
Thirty minutes later, with their blue tablets swallowed, suits on and gear packed, they were seated in the Spear waiting for the information regarding their task to load onto the screen. They made some small talk, but it was too early in the day for much else. Plus, there was also some quiet reflection going on.
Jane started the engine and Mike inserted the disc into its reader.
To their surprise, George himself appeared. The news he gave them wasn’t good and included details of how they were going to use one of the pens on their target. Once he had been immobilised, they were to ensure that Peters’ death appeared to be suicide. The detailed instructions George gave them made Jane shudder. Ken saw the movement in her shoulders as he sat in the rear watching his own mini screen on the back of Mike’s headrest.
George’s words penetrated the warm luxury of the cab. ‘It is doubtful the aerosol will work on this particular individual,’ he commented. ‘Some part of his mind seems to be void of reality. Just stun him and then, well, you know what is required after that…’ It was the first time he had used a visual briefing, preferring to use the more normal, written method.
His personal appearance made Ken realise that perhaps this one was a big deal. It was either that, or the old man was worried.
Watching the data filter onto the dull blue screen for a while after George had gone, Mike stopped the player, reached down and began strapping himself in. ‘Buckle up folks,’ he said, grinning over his shoulder.
Seconds later, he sent them into the void.
Their arrival in the cold, dark lay-by caused a sleeping blackbird to leap, chattering with surprise, from its cosy hedgerow roost. It swooped low across the road to their left and then stood on the verge with its head cocked, angrily looking at the strange vehicle that had appeared as if from nowhere.
Ken looked at his watch. ‘Let’s go!’ he said, and reached for the door handle. Stepping into the night, he waited until Mike was out and then placed his hand on the glass next to Jane’s head. She reached up, placed her palm against the window and smiled at him. Ken nodded once before turning away.
Crossing the road, the two men walked down the hill towards the cottage. The blackbird, shrieking in anger at the added inconvenience, flashed past them on his way to find some alternative place to sleep. Entering the back gate, and using the overgrown hedge as cover, they moved towards the cottage. Ken headed for the outhouse, whilst Mike used his mystical key and entered the building through the back door.
He slipped from room to room, gathering items from their clever hiding places and sliding them into the plastic bag which he had stuffed in his pocket before leaving the lodge. Within ten minutes, he had re-joined Ken in the outhouse. Placing the bag down, he whispered: ‘All good, where’s the rope and the ladder?’
Ken pointed at the two items he had placed against the far wall. ‘Yeah, I’ve found ‘em, but I need to try this pen,’ he growled. ‘I dropped it and the cap’s come off. I’ve stuck it back on but I still need to test it.’ Taking the pen out, he looked at the cap, twisted it, aimed the device at the wall and then squeezed off a shot. The pen functioned perfectly and they watched in silence as its green fire spread across the surface of the old wall. The liquid appearance of the spreading energy illuminating the darkened interior of the building, as it dissipated, the room darkened once again. Only a strong smell of burning remained.
‘Okay, that still works, I suppose,’ Ken said. ‘If it doesn’t, then I’m just gonna clout him one, either way – he’s coming with us!’ He placed the pen back in his pocket and looked at his watch. According to the briefing, their target should be with them in eight-minutes. Ken leaned across to Mike. ‘I’ve put a roll of plastic over there, too,’ he said, pointing through the darkness, ‘we should stick him in it, just in case he’s bleeding or something…’ Mike looked at the plastic and nodded in agreement.
Looking at his watch again, Ken whispered: ‘Let’s get out of here. Peters will be here in a minute.’ He pushed the door open, and with Mike at his shoulder, walked around the side of the outhouse. They stood shivering in the shadow of the cottage, waiting for Jane’s text as dawn began its lethargic climb into the new day.
The vibration Ken’s his hip pocket wasn’t long in coming.
Peering at the display, he saw the words he craved.
‘Target approaching, all clear.’
He slid the phone back into his pocket and tapped Mike’s arm, nodding his head in the darkness to signal Peters’ imminent arrival. Together they crouched in the shadows with their hearts racing, listening intently as the sound of a gate, scraping against stone, reached their straining ears. There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of a man whistling softly floated through the air – this was followed by a watery splash, the noise of which raised them to their feet once more. The signal for them to move came in the form of a clicking latch followed by the sound of the outhouse door rattling shut.
The two men ran around the side of the building, Ken leading with his pen in hand. The cap was twisted and his thumb was on the button. Reaching the door, he stepped to one side and allowed Mike to raise the latch, which he did with all the skill of a cat burglar. Not a sound was made as
the door swung inwards.
Ken stepped into the dimly lit room. Peters spun around, his eyes widening in shock. Without hesitation, Ken shot him with the pen. His action produced a beam of green light that came leaping out of the pen’s nozzle. It was a great shot; the beam hit the man squarely in the face. Peters froze where he had been standing. They saw the energy reach out and touch every corner of his skull, staring in horror as it illuminated the blood vessels in his ears and raced down his throat. He was consumed by it.
‘I…’ was the only sound to escape his mouth before he crumpled to the floor.
Mike stepped over him, reached for the roll of plastic and a ball of garden string that was hanging on the back wall.
Ken swapped the pen for his mobile and rang Jane. ‘Come down and reverse onto the drive,’ he said, ‘keep your eye on the Scanner, we’ll see you in a bit!’ He pressed the call end button and turned towards Mike.
The Australian was in the process of rolling Peters onto his back. They pulled his coveralls back on, making sure the guilt-ridden gloves were in the pocket, and then rolled him onto a large piece of the plastic sheet, bundling him up and unceremoniously trussing the package like a giant Christmas turkey. Within fifteen minutes, he was dumped into the rear of the gleaming Spear, which Jane had rolled onto the gravel track at the side of the beautiful old cottage. A black plastic bag, containing, amongst other things, his over-shoes, was put into the boot next to him. The final thing they did was to lay the man’s rusty step-ladder across the top of his quivering form. After shutting the boot, Mike and Ken ran around and slid into the leather-bound interior of the vehicle.