Designated (Book 2): Designated Quarantined

by Cooper, Ricky

  Baker railed against himself as he somehow kept his face completely neutral, the sight of the walking pestilence before him making his stomach dance. 'That is a far cry from what I saw and as I said, she is my wife and this is your chance to walk away without any repercussions or recompense, so please. Leave.'

  His face contorted into a dribbling mask of indignant rage that mingled with alcohol-induced impudence as he puffed himself out like a cold-chapped robin.

  'And what if me and my boys decided we didn't want to? What if we decided we want to come in and stay for a while, maybe help ourselves to that nice food there?'

  Baker sighed as he looked down at his hands; they hung, relaxed and ready at his sides. Davies shifted his feet slightly, his hands cupped and loose just at the level of hips.

  'You really going to force this? You can still walk away. In fact, I am begging you to walk away; just walk away and nothing more will come of this.'

  The figure before him sneered his lips, curling into a semblance of what his pickled mind told him was scornful. The lopsided look did nothing to assuage the sheer lack of physical appeal that his features held.

  Glancing behind him, Davies spied Janet wildly pointing towards the doors as Kingsley looked up at him and Derek, a look of non-concern plastered over his face as he spied the slowly closing circlet of drunken idiots.

  Sighing, Baker glanced once more at his hands as they snapped closed, tightening into a fist so tight his skin groaned like canvas being stretched over an awning.

  'Okay, then.'

  Baker twisted, driving his fist deep into the man's kidney as his knee crashed into his solar plexus. The man's eyes widened as he dropped his breath, disappearing in a violent explosion of air and mucus.

  Davies spun with a grunting growl as he drove his leg forwards, sending another drunken lout the floor in a flailing tangle of arms and legs. His body folded around Davies' driving foot as it collided with his chest. They moved in a shimmering dance of wet slapping impacts as flesh met flesh with each violent thrust. With each crushing blow, another fell until all that remained of the once menacing clutch of alcohol-fuelled erections was a whimpering mass of groaning flesh and bloodied teeth.

  Crouching, Baker lifted the whimpering collection of flesh that had been the cause of it all by the shoulder and said in a soft almost gentle voice.

  'Now is that going to be the last time you hit on another man's wife and are you going to, from now on, leave when you are asked?'

  Baker watched as he nodded; then with a gentle pat on the man's shoulder, he rose to his feet.

  'Good.'

  Stepping over him, Baker headed towards the door as Davies pulled his slightly rumpled shirt back into place and followed suit, a soft smile gracing his lips.

  'Derek, does that count as PT for tomorrow?'

  Baker snorted as he pushed the door open and made his way back to his table. 'Not if Colinson has anything to say about it.'

  'Oi Dave, John wants to know if that little spat counts as PT for tomorrow.'

  David looked up as Akemi cast a glance over her shoulder in their direction, a puzzled scowl weaving her brow together. Leaning in, she whispered in his ear.

  'It means physical training,' he replied in a quick burst of Japanese.

  He then turned, leaning across the back of his chair to look at Davies' slow approach. 'Only if you broke a sweat; did you?'

  Tugging at his shirt, John searched for any sign of perspiration. Finding none, he sighed and shook his head.

  'Then no. I want you on the field in PT kit at zero five thirty.'

  Nodding, Davies picked up his pint and set it to his lips, taking a long, lingering pull from the amber-coloured liquid. 'Fine, I'll be there. We going through full drills or just a shakedown session?'

  Colinson smiled as he pulled Akemi tighter to him, settling himself into the chair further before replying.

  'Full drills so bring your pads.'

  Davies smirked and dropped into his seat, slipping his fingers through Anna's once more.

  Derek looked at Janet as she stood slightly shaken by the bar, a slim, olive-skinned waitress at her shoulder. The woman quickly looked up as Derek approached, a small glimmer of concern in her eyes that all but vanished the instant he appeared.

  Before Baker could utter a word, Janet spoke. The glass of water in her hands rippled slightly as she stared up at his face, the grim set to her eyes speaking volumes.

  'Teach me!'

  Baker looked at her slightly askance, his eyes widening imperceptibly as he gazed down at her.

  'Huh? Sorry, darling, teach you what?'

  Janet pointed with her chin towards the door as she set the glass on the counter and stood, turning towards the loud bubble of noise and energy that was their friends.

  'To fight like you do. I am sick to death of playing the damsel to your bloody white knight. Do you know how embarrassed that makes me? Every time something happens that I can't immediately control, you leap in. I am not useless, Derek!'

  Baker rubbed the back of his neck as she continued to speak, drawing several curious glances from, not only their friends, but the other people around them.

  'If you won't do it, I am sure John, David, or Solomon would be more than happy.'

  A heavy-throated retort rolled over the heads of every one there as Kingsley shouted across, his reply drawing several chuckles from those around them, including Derek.

  'No we bloody wouldn't. You would probably try and poison us in our sleep; then again, you do work for the NHS, so we would probably be dead by the afternoon.'

  Her withering gaze silenced any formal reply he could have mustered as she turned back to her husband and stared at him. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her jaw set as she slowly let one eyebrow rise, her emerald green eyes boring into him, waiting for that final moment when she knew that chink would open and his defences fall at her feet.

  'Fine, but when you're in the ring, you're just another recruit. If we're doing this, we're doing it right. Not some pansy-arsed, half-hearted go at it.'

  Both her eyebrows rose as she lined up another salvo ready to tear into him, but as she stared into the twin blue discs that held her gaze, she could see he was deadly serious. She saw just how scared it made him to admit that he was beginning to become a first-line defender and not the stalwart fortress he had always been to those he loved and cherished.

  'Okay.' Was her only reply as she snaked past his reaching hands and slid into his waiting grasp. She slid her arms round his neck and drew him to her, her lips locking over his in a deep impassioned kiss that left Baker reeling and a little embarrassed as a cacophony of wolf whistles and laughing taunts echoed up from around them.

  Glancing around him, Kingsley suddenly felt very alone as he looked at the others either calling or clutching their spouses as their inhibitions fell away in the flood of food and alcohol. A heavy lump settled in his chest as he hung his head. The well of sadness and loneliness that suddenly rose around him made him all too aware of his own station and mortality.

  He jumped slightly as a small hand tapped at his shoulder. A slither of white paper clutched between slender caramel-coloured fingers danced in his vision. Turning, his eyes travelled over the slim figure holding it, her almond-shaped eyes glittering as she smiled shyly. Kingsley slipped the paper from her fingers and into his pocket.

  A grin spread over his features as he watched her slip back through the door, a coy smile fluttering through the air as she cast a glance back over her shoulder and finally dropped from view. Hopping to his feet, Kingsley slapped the tabletop, drawing all eyes to him as he raised his drink into the air.

  'To Lieutenant John Davies, Major Derek Baker, and Lieutenant Colonel David Colinson, I want to say…' Kingsley paused as he watched the expectant gazes hang on his words. 'Thank Christ it wasn't me.'

  A wave of laughter rolled through them as Kingsley grinned, his left hand patting the air as he motioned for quiet once more.
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  'But in all seriousness, I couldn't think of two men I would rather serve under than Derek and David. Both have shown time and again the lengths they will go to keep not only their families and country, but also their men safe from anything that would come their way; I, for one, am honoured to be able to call them not just my commanders but also my friends. Love you guys. No matter where you are, how deep the problem, call and I am there.'

  London NW1

  Actual location Unknown

  Fury and madness swirled in equal measure in his glazed eyes as he stared at the photo in his hands. The smiling face was smeared in camouflage paint and dirty, running like fire through his mind.

  The slim aquiline features of the man to his left made his heart heave. The path he trod in the name of vengeance left him with nothing. Cold and alone, there he sat; a soiled canvass camp bed his only comfort as he felt dampness and mould seep into his lungs. The hacking cough that spilled out sent crimson droplets over the glossed paper in his grip. Tears pricked at his eyes as footsteps pulled his attention to the door behind him.

  'Sir, the men are ready; you give the word, and we'll proceed. Our man inside has already set the worm into their system, but …'

  The operative trailed off as Ridgmont's gaze turned to him.

  'What?'

  The operative shifted nervously as he adjusted his grip on his weapon. 'He went off script and has been snatched on murder charges. However, his breach into the mainframe has yielded valuable intelligence.'

  Ridgmont sneered as he rose to his feet, his slight form standing in stark contrast to the armour-clad soldier before him.

  'No matter; we will proceed as planned. Have Trojan continue to monitor the package. When a window presents itself, they are to acquire the target; until then, we will proceed as planned with the operation.'

  The operative saluted and turned on his heel, striding from the room as Ridgmont pulled a disposable phone from his pocket. Pressing down on the one key, he watched as the screen lit up and auto dialled the preprogramed number.

  'Move on the secondary target. Location is Lovell Buckinghamshire. You have your orders.'

  A heavy beep filled the air as Ridgmont ended the call. He turned the phone in his hand and tore the back free. With a smooth, practised motion, he drew the battery and sim card from the housing before tossing the sim and handset into a lit brazier in the corner of the room.

  ****

  The screen sent a shifting glow across his features as he tapped and prodded at the keyboard. The list of names danced over his skin as he clicked on one after another.

  The secure phone on the desk next to the matte-black hard drive pinged as, one after another, payments were made and each man was bought. A vicious grin curled over Ridgmont's lips; he watched the screen fade as he pulled the hard drive from the port and slipped it into the heavy padded pocket as he stood.

  His lungs burned; phlegm, blood, and searing bile rose through his throat as his chest heaved. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he pulled out a stained and bloodied handkerchief, his vision swimming as his body shook and he began to cough. Thick wads of clotted blood and phlegm coated the cloth in his hand as he sank to his knees, the room around him echoing with the sounds of a dying man.

  The sound of rustling paper echoed the scurry squeak of the rats in the walls as Ridgmont pulled a photo from his breast pocket. The aged and worn piece of photographic paper was creased and foxed at the edges. Greasy thumbprints mottled its surface as he stared into the camouflage, paint-smeared face of his son.

  'I'll make it right. I'll make it right. I promise you, I'll make it right.'

  August Fourth

  Greater Manchester

  Northwest England

  His breathing came in ragged gasps; the air, cold and fresh, stung his lungs as he drew it in. The frozen haze of his bitter breath misted in front of him as he listened to the pounding of his feet, their offset beat echoing his heart as he ploughed on through the rising gloom of a new day.

  He listened to the scraping sound of trainers over gravel as the hand he clutched so tightly in his dropped, almost dragging him down with it.

  'Liz, c'mon; we have to go. We can't stop.'

  He pulled at her arm as she tried to force herself to rise, her knees scraped and raw from the nights she spent earning enough to keep death from their door began to slowly weep, their crimson tears sliding through the torn laddered tights that clung to her unwashed skin.

  Her dirty, matted, and frayed hair hung low over her eyes as she stared up at him. Her face was lined with a layer of grime that sheared her tender years from her, leaving her an embittered shell of a girl. His eyes gazed at her, dispassionate anger warring with his need to protect as he hauled her upright, the size-four trainers that covered her worn and blistered feet, scraping through the grit-filled mud as he pulled her into a staggering run.

  'What happened this time?'

  She bit her lip, sucking the dirty flap of skin and flesh into her mouth as she sucked at the scabbed cut, the coppery taste of her own blood filling her mouth as she tore the scab free. Spitting the wad of blood and sputum to the ground, she shrugged. Her frail form was swamped in the muck-tarnished hoody that hung from her like a limp dishcloth. She stumbled once more, her feet tangling in the flapping laces that danced about her ankles.

  'Damn it, Liz, how many times have I told you to tie those damn things? Fucking c'mere.'

  She shrank back from his ire-filled glare as he pulled her towards him, the look of fear mingling with a swirling mix of shock and utter resignation. She curled her arms into the hoody, pulling it tight to her small body; the bones of her shoulders poked free of the neckline as she bunched it under her chin.

  Robbie sighed as he stared at her starved and malnourished form, a sharp spike of guilt and self-loathing driving through his heart as he looked at her.

  'I'm sorry; I didn't mean to shout.'

  He knelt in front of her, quickly tying the loose strands of her laces into tight bows before once more standing and taking her hand.

  'C'mon the place ain't far and I think we have lost Toni's boys; I don't want them anywhere near you anymore.'

  He pulled her forwards, her feet slapping the ground as they once more began to run. Echoed shouts of anger made him turn as Liz froze in place, her body trembling as she began to cry, her crystal tears leaving growing lines of pain in her dirt smeared skin.

  Leaning down he pushed the matted curtain of hair from Liz's face. A grim shimmer of certainty danced in his eyes as he looked at her; the dull curtain of self-loathing and dead innocence hung like a veil across her mind as he looked into the two once glittering orbs of blue crystal.

  'Run straight down here, go left after the metal sign post; you'll see a dumpster with a big red circle sprayed on it. Behind that is a window; climb in there and stay as quiet as you can. I'll come and get you. Go as fast as you can, Liz, and don't look back.'

  She nodded, turning as she did so, and ran as fast as her slim legs could carry her, the tears shimmering in a glittering line of dancing diamonds along her face.

  Robbie's hand slipped into the folds of his torn and mould-stained jacket. His fingers curled around the masking tape-covered handle within, a shiver of apprehension slithering through him as he listened to the shouts and pounding feet as they closed in.

  He watched with a deep, gnawing need to flee as they closed the distance, their heaving chests and sweat-soaked brows creased with rage as they slowed to a crawl, advancing inch by nerve-rending inch towards him.

  Robbie began to shake, the trembling of his muscles filling him completely as he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, his hand flexing around the handle that he clutched so tightly. His thoughts bunched into a jumbled mess as he watched them slowly begin to encircle him, their towering forms seeming to blot out the rising sun as he slowly began to back away. His palm was slick with sweat as he closed it tight around the handle of the serrated kitchen knife as he pull
ed it free.

  'Well, lookie here, lads. Little Robbie's all tooled up. W'at you g'nna do, Rob? Stick me with that shank, yeah?'

  The knife hung easily in his hand as he settled the weight into his palm. The tape gripped his skin with an assuring pull as he shifted his feet, crouching slightly, his eyes flickering from one man to the next as he continued to back away.

  'Where d'you tink you're goin' boy? We got business wit' that piece o' cunt o' yours. She ga'e my boy ere some nasty bites. Y'know, you shud teach 'er to mind her manners, man; won' get much repeat customers, she keep biting people like tha'.'

  Toni grabbed at his crotch, waggling his genitals at Robbie as he stepped closer. Robbie tensed, crouching lower as the crew around him laughed. Stopping eight feet from him, Toni laughed as he released his hold on his semi-engorged phallus.