by Jack L. Pyke
Stop him. Vince, please.
At what point had Jack given up and stopped crying out for him? At what point—
Another message came through.
Not yours. Never fucking yours.
Trace shouted out as Gray slammed the phone up against the wall.
“Fucking cunt.”
“Whoa, whoa,” said Trace, scrambling over to the phone. “Time out, Gray. Go and get your fucking head down.” He fumbled with the phone as Gray headed out to get his coat.
“Where are you going?” Trace came on through, caught between fixing the phone and shoving a hand in the door to stop Gray leaving. “Just who are you going to hurt?”
Gray’s look was enough for Trace to offer the phone over. “You have nothing to hit out at. Get back upstairs, get your head down until tomorrow and have faith in the men you have underneath you. You wouldn’t employ them if you didn’t think they could do their job.”
“They can’t match the codes. They don’t know who they’re fucking after.”
Trace offered the phone over again. “Then you start fresh in the morning and go over every detail again. But get your head down with those who matter most. Remind yourself why Jack. Why Jan. Why you need them here.”
Gray pulled back, enough to take the phone back at least.
“The screen’s cracked, but it’s working.” Trace took Gray’s jacket off him. “That’s two images today. Kes broke routine. He’s not letting you get comfortable. Nothing more.” He reached and massaged Gray’s neck. “One more day, then this is over either way, and Kes will need to come out into the open.”
After briefly closing his eyes, Gray glanced back towards the stairs.
“Come on,” said Trace, pulling him towards them. “Those kids upstairs can’t wait. That fuck can. At least until tomorrow.”
As Gray slipped his long overcoat on, he eased a look back into the manor before the door closed, to where Jack and Jan still kept exhaustion between the sheets. Gray had managed to slip out before the morning chorus and...
You didn’t expect it, did you?
He frowned. He hadn’t expected it, no. Not with Jan. Not for it to hurt this much. He understood Jan’s need to breathe, to get out, but not to hide, just control his own fall. It had taken these last few months to realise that how he’d pulled away from Jack all those years ago mimicked how he pulled away from Jan. Only the real hurt came when they weren’t there.
Kept deep in his pocket, Gray felt along Logan’s phone.
Before he’d heard Jan’s shouts from the hall last night, time had been spent with Elena. She’d lost her voice weeks ago, but as long as she had the strength to hold a pen, she was of some use. When Trace had stopped him leaving last night, he didn’t know just who he’d saved. If he had known Gray’s intent had been fixed on Elena, he doubted whether Trace would have held on so tightly to stop him from leaving.
Kes was using pictures and sayings from Vince’s rape, and as Elena had scribbled Kes’s name down yesterday, they’d met at some point. Elena hadn’t been in the frame of mind to give him anything else, so Gray had turned his questioning to “Doc,” Vince’s so-called hired doctor who had taken lead role in drugging Jack and Jan. Like Vince, the “Doc” had been kept out of the loop over who funded the psychological reconditioning, and he couldn’t place Kes in the picture. Although by the time Gray had walked away from the cell, the Doc would have sworn in a court of law that Kes had served Vince Christmas dinner in a Batman outfit if Gray had needed him to.
For now, Elena’s scribbled ramblings were all he had to go by. He’d go back to basics and check them against previous interrogations and the coding.
Gray pulled out Logan’s phone and ran his thumb over the latest picture of Jan, how the shot framed the feeding tube being forced down his throat as he lay bound on a single bed.
What the hell was he missing in all of this? Why did Kes think he had access to the rest of these codes?
Gray wasn’t exactly sure what made him pause outside of his Thames House office, but with the door slightly open, everything had that... tainted air about it.
The old Guard to MI5 still never quite let go on trust, and a few tricks were used in offices to make sure unwelcome guests wouldn’t go unnoticed. Gray knew most of them, even employed a few, from motion sensors out of office hours, CCTV, and, in younger, less patient days, leaving a small explosive that triggered the door on opening, or inside his safe. An oil painting sat next to it with a sensor that picked up if the safe door was open wider than an inch. Pass codes could be gotten around, especially those that detonated devices inside the safe, and ultimately fucked up all the paperwork inside, so he came with a zero tolerance on prying eyes, making sure anyone touching his safe would lose hand and eye if they inched the door open. Then a secondary device was also installed, triggered by the first, just in case the perps came in twos and one was used as a Sapper to detect the explosive. And the Sapper motto of Ubique would certainly be lived up to with body parts being... everywhere. The second would take out the office, leaving the safe intact. And by then, MI5 would be on lockdown.
There was nothing here other than a feeling. MI5 wasn’t on lockdown; a glance at his safe saw it was still intact, and a check by the door saw the motion detector hadn’t been disturbed. Rachel hadn’t reported anyone being in his office this morning, which meant no one had gotten past her. She didn’t leave her desk until he arrived. He didn’t need to check in with her to know that.
After he went over to a wall unit and opened up access to the CCTV equipment, he set it on rewind, hitting a secondary device that would stop the CCTV when movement was detected. Nothing came on screen, not even evidence of any loops to suggest it had been tampered with.
Everything looked as it should. It just didn’t feel as it should.
Not satisfied, he made his way over to his desk, intent on running a quick scan of the office to check for any foreign devices. If someone wanted to kill him, they would have done so already. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t left something behind to keep tabs on him.
The bottom drawer to his desk was unlocked and open.
That made Gray pause, because if they were smart-footed enough to get into MI5, past the motion sensors and the CCTV, then there was a reason that drawer had been left open.
Gray left it there and went back through to Rachel in the office, leaning over her desk and watching as she eased away to let him. From her second to last drawer, he pulled a small, handheld, CTX device. It came from a family of devices that automatically checked for small explosives in baggage. He had a DF-2 adapted to his iPhone, the latest pocket-sized tech to detect listening devices, plus wireless video, and he took that out, too, as he straightened.
“Go get a coffee,” he said to Rachel as she cast a look down at what he held.
Rachel stayed quiet for a moment. “Do I need to notify anyone?”
“Just pick me up one too. It’s precautionary only.”
She gave a very curt nod. “Ten minutes. Then I’m back regardless.”
Gray offered a smile, then headed back into his office. He set the CTX to scan first, but the images that came up showed no trace of an explosive device in the bottom drawer. Knowing no device could be triggered by his mobile phone, Gray then set the DF-2 detection on his phone and let it rest on his desk top. It took only a few seconds, but it didn’t rest on a particular frequency, showing no hidden monitoring devices either.
Giving a frown, he sat down and opened his drawer more fully. One particular file had been opened and a page left exposed.
After putting on some gloves from the top drawer and pulling out a clear protective folder, Gray picked up the file and turned it over. He doubted prints would have been left. But something had. He let it rest in the folder on his desk, then sat staring at it.
The notes from Elena Fortello’s ongoing interrogation had been taken over a five-month period, with Gray’s last visit only yesterday. He had a source lookin
g after her, but the location here on English soil wasn’t marked down. Or it shouldn’t be.
Now the address sat marked in red at the top.
Like Kes, whoever had been in here knew he held Elena.
As he scanned the page, three more items were circled in red. All of them repeating the same surname that Elena had.
Gray pulled out the scrambled ramblings from yesterday, and true to form, the name was mentioned again there too:
Richards.
Gray frowned. On the last repeated account, an arrow was given to mark a single side note of:
Why not Jack? Why not Greg? Why Richards three-scored more?
That took all of his attention for a few minutes. Why not Jack. Why not Greg? Why Richards three-scored... more.
Gray sat back to rub at his lip. He recognised the handwriting on the interrogation paper now, despite it being followed with the Welsh word: nhad.
In over seventeen years, he hadn’t spoken to his father.
So why now? Why over this? Why Jan?
Gray rubbed his hands over his face, then let his head drop in them for a moment as he closed his eyes. Why had Elena only mentioned Jan? Why did she keep mentioning him?
Gray eased back and brought up Jan’s file from last year’s investigation. He felt torn looking at the details. There was nothing special: education... decent, police record... nonexistent... even his bank details showed nothing but a few direct debits... standing orders....
Other than that... nothing out of the ordinary. Normal.
Painstakingly normal. Jan normal.
Gray sat forward slightly, then ran his gaze over Jan’s banking history again. Modest details, modest young man. So why the fuck did it feel wrong? What the hell did “modest” have to do with Kes and those codes?
Gray looked over Jan’s account. Then he picked up the internal phone.
“Sir,” said Rachel. He’d called her mobile. “Everything clear?”
“Call A-Branch for me. I need an expert from financial and computer forensics.”
“You want a meeting at your office?”
“No.” His mobile phone went in his pocket, the file in the drawer. “I’ll head over to their department.”
He had a bad feeling, one that tore at his insides and hoped to God he was wrong. As with Kes and the photos, Jan’s name was being repeated for a reason.
“It’s Bevan Funnell bespoke workmanship.”
Gabe smiled seeing the intensity on Dare’s face. Everyone finally stirred just after breakfast, and Dare... he’d crouched down next to a study desk in Gray’s main lounge and was running a hand over the polished surface. The desk looked fine enough to break if Dare put a fingertip of his tall muscled form on it, but skilled hands came into play, showing the gentlest appreciation for the artwork he scrutinized. Could have been another language he’d mumbled to himself, but Gabe gathered it was the name of the supplier, Dare’s own love of carpentry showing through.
“Kind of make’s the one I made for Jack look like junk yard scrap next to this,” said Dare. The desk was a mix of deep mahogany with a dark-leather runner. In each corner of the black leather, an intricate red dragon breathed deep gusts of fire. Expensive, no doubt designed to private order, but still didn’t come close to the furniture Dare made back home. And no amount of expensive finery could buy the way Dare looked, shirtless, covered in sweat, as hips and strong arm dictated the hard pace on the wood, and Gabe’s dick in general. Although with how Dare looked now with such a gentle giant’s touch as he knelt next to the fine workmanship, Gabe wished he’d had time to pack his camera, perhaps the wide-angle lens. The light hitting the table caught Dare’s eyes, giving them extra life, and lightening his long sandy hair so that the tips were almost blond.
Gabe took his drink, a cup of tea that, surprisingly, wasn’t in any fancy bone-china, but a big mug that cried out the need to relax after a hard day’s graft, and he padded over to Dare. Dare seemed a little more relaxed, maybe so because he could find some connection with the wood, and Gabe rested against the table to enjoy watching his peace a little more. Dare was happy in the company of tables, chairs, and the wood needed to shape them. It had taken him longer to find the same peace with Kyle. But then, growing up in the backdrop of the bible and being forced by a perverted father to sleep with his best friend in front of him, all in order to “Forgive us our Sins” that young boys hadn’t even discovered then....
Gabe looked away, over to the mantelpiece and the sculpted candles that sat like fathers and sons, looking so fucking familiar but a hearth of fire between them.
He gave a hard sigh and it earned a glance up off Dare. The trace of his fingers brushed deliberately against Gabe’s thigh, and the same look of loving the finer lines in life allowed Gabe to raise a brow.
“Did I give you permission to touch, slave?”
Dare eased down to his knees and dipped his head. Kneeling there, he still came chest high to Gabe as Gabe leaned against the table. “Permission, please, Sir.”
As Gabe took a sip of tea, he stroked at Dare’s neck, content to keep him there and hold that look of peace on his face for a moment longer.
Voices drifted on through from the reception hall, and Trace came in, closely followed by Jan.
“No Jack?” said Gabe, giving Dare a quiet touch that said he could find his feet now.
Jan gave the softest smile at Dare as he came over. He didn’t look any better, but a good proportion of his aggression had lifted off his shoulders. It was a start to recovery, but it would be a slow one.
“Jack’s lost himself to Jan’s Jag for a few hours,” said Trace, taking the mug of tea off Gabe and downing the last mouthful. “Or, rather, Jan locked him in there so he could use the bathroom without being followed.”
Gabe grinned, then said to Trace. “The kitchen’s that way, if you’ve forgotten.” Gabe even pointed to give Trace the hint to get his own drink, but Trace had already handed the mug back.
“Die of thirst getting there, babydoll,” he said with a pleasant caress along Gabe’s arm.
“You like it, Dare??” Jan was tapping on the desk and smiling tiredly at him. “The dragons, they represent the Red Dragon.”
“From Wales?” Dare’s fingertips were back to shaping the closest dragon.
“Gray keeps the design systematic throughout the manor.” Jan pointed to the cornice corners of the mahogany coving. The same love and attention given the Welsh Dragon was sculpted into the coving, making very expensive decorative corner pieces.
“Funnell’s the best in the business.” Dare grinned up. “I’d hate to see the bill for it all, though, especially—”
Footfalls back at the door stopped Dare and had Gabe looking over his shoulder to see if Jack could do the impossible and drag himself away from a car. Maybe it was down to the clock back on the wall above the fireplace that had Gabe frowning at Trace, but it said Gray had only left for Thames House a few hours ago. He didn’t get back until after seven p.m. Yet there he was, looking as though he’d misplaced something, then found it as he looked over by Jan.
Only what he found was very wrong.
Chapter 27
Fathers and Sons
After Gray came into the lounge and paused, Trace started to stand as unease gnawed at his own stomach. It was as if Gray had woken up and seen the world after a blast and not understood where or why life had imploded. Worst thing being, Trace couldn’t spot Gray’s firearm on him. He always wore his firearm. Even if he found something from the environment to use, he always wore his firearm. Now he looked like he was trying to ignore every natural instinct to cause some serious damage, and that was more than a concern. “Gray,” he started to say, hoping to break the strain, “I didn’t think you were—”
Trace got a brief glance as Gray passed by, but then Gray covered the distance so quickly to Jan, and a few shouts went up, including Gabe’s, as Jan was grabbed and forced back into the wall.
“What have you done?” G
ray slammed Jan back again and Jan gripped his head as it cracked against the wall. “What the fuck have you done?”
Trace shifted close. “Gray,” he said quickly, at roughly about the same time Jan pleaded—
“Please—”
“Tell me what you’ve fucking done,” shouted Gray.
“I don’t know what I’ve done,” Jan cried out. “What the fuck have I done?” He looked so pale. “Gray, please. What the fuck have I done?”
Trace felt sick seeing Jan nearly break and try to crumple out of Gray’s hold. Again he tried to get close, but Jack seemed to come from nowhere.
Easing in between Gray and Jan, Jack took Gray back a step or two. As he did, Dare took the chance and shifted for Jan, almost blocking him from Gray.
“Don’t know what’s wrong, mukka.” Jack had his lips close to Gray’s cheek. “But I can tell you now, it’s nothing to do with soft lad here.”
Gray’s look stayed level on Jan, who had his forehead resting on the back of Dare’s shoulder as the grip on his arm dug into Dare’s skin.
“Whatever it is,” Jack said so quietly, hands now sneaking under Gray’s jacket to hold him close, “you’re listening with your head and fists.” He rested his head against Gray’s. “But I can feel how much you’re shaking, mukka. Fuck, can I feel you shaking. That heart of yours is telling you something different. You have no weapon on you; you’re fighting those instincts.... Listen...” Jack closed his eyes. “Please, just listen.”
Jan pressed his back against the wall, almost hidden behind Dare, his eyes screwed shut as Trace warned Gabe to stay back. He’d inched closer too.
“Trust him with my life, Gray,” Jack mumbled. “I don’t even have to look back and ask what this is about.”
Gray didn’t shift, but he didn’t seem to hear Jack either, not on any conscious level. “Tell me about normal, Jan. Tell me about being so fucking normal.”
“Normal?” Jan started to shake his head. “I... I—no, no!”