Once upon a Spook (The Spooks series Book 1)

by Gary Tulley

  The driver meanwhile casually removed his hat and threw it to one side, as the pair looked up to confront their tormentors. A sustained hiatus of silence ensued as a transfusion of recognition slowly but surely absorbed their distorted minds. In sense, what was now on offer at first glance, contrasted with a remix of total horror and abhorrent fear coupled with the fact that as from now, they could well be acting out a grim dress rehearsal as a prelude to certain death and that they were the only two players in the cast.

  Unfortunately for them, the director could be seen to be holding a revolver in lieu of a script, leaving his role to figure highly in the credits. Now came the time for Eastern to think on his feet, as a survival pattern kicked in. It was never going to be the greatest ‘scene’ he was ever going to play, indicating that he only needed the benefit of one take to get his view across. Considering his less than delicate situation, he still contrived to retain optimistic in a bid to gain a lifeline.

  “Well…well, why aren’t I surprised?” The clinging observation was aimed at the figure whom Eastern clearly thought could well be the mouthpiece of the two. “Although I can’t speak for your…friend!” Dragging out the implication, he nodded towards his assailant’s accomplice. “But I have to tell you, that just lately, you’re getting to be one fucking bad habit…” He stalled to emphasise his point, before ramming it home, “Mr Dowling.”

  A cryptic smile, that could have suggested war or peace either way crossed his aggressor’s face, before the gunman replied in a melodramatic manner.

  “I’ll take that as a subtle observation, but you’re right of course, Mr Eastern.” Hesitating briefly, he caressed the revolver against his cheek, and continued in the same vein. “Unfortunately, like most traits, habits have a tendency to die from time to time, if you’ll excuse the pun? So I feel sure that you and Mrs Conway, or should I say, Travers, both have a shared interest in living?” Meanwhile Dowling’s henchman began showing signs of restlessness, as he cut in.

  “Forget the verbal bollocks Dowling, let’s just do what we came ere for. The sooner I’m out of ere the better I’ll like it!” His ranting outburst as intended, made little or no impact to the situation, simply allowing Dowling to pursue his one man persecution. For her part, Joan was now on the verge of breaking up completely, leaving Eastern struggling to support her.

  As clichés go, it was never going to be the best on offer when facing apparent death, and Dowling made it his own. “It seems such a shame, and I apologise to you both, just when we were getting to know each other as well.” In the background his sidekick was almost screaming at him now, to cut short the charade.

  “Do it! Fucking well do it! You idiot…let’s get the hell out of ere.” Slowly and deliberately Dowling cocked the weapon, and extended his firing arm at shoulder height, ensuring that Eastern would be his first nominated victim. A highly noticeable and discerning look then masked his face as he prepared to pull the trigger. Eastern literally froze as he looked down the barrel of the .38. He wanted to speak so badly, to say anything, but he couldn’t. Even his heart had gone walkabout, and his dislodged brain could be found in his mouth, permanently choking him.

  “Think man! No time…action!” Again, useless…arms, legs numb. His bloodless knuckles were now showing white from tension as he braced his body for the inevitable coupe de grace. Dowling’s finger, slowly tightened around the trigger. For Eastern, it would be the last visual memory in time afforded to him. What developed next became inexplicable. In less time than it takes to breathe in there followed a muffled explosion as Dowling in a rehearsed and business like manner suddenly spun around and fired point blank at his side kick. The impact from the bullet rocked the man’s body back on his feet, giving the appearance of an oversized macabre puppet. Instantaneously, to the right of his temple, a 10mm neat blackened hole gave way to a forced trickle of blood. The look of horror and utter amazement featured in his death mask became apparent the moment Dowling pulled the trigger. With nothing to sustain him anymore, the victim’s lifeless body slumped to the floor resembling a useless heap of flesh and bone. As if counting by numbers, Dowling then proceeded to walk across to the victim’s lifeless form. On reaching down, he felt for a token pulse with his free hand. Any lip reader of substance would have had a field day standing 20 yards away as Dowling spoke in a nonchalant manner. “Uhm, just as I anticipated, dead before he hit the ground.”

  Content to continue in the same implausible vein, he then turned his attention back towards the mesmerised forms of Eastern and Joan. But not before disarming, and secreting the weapon inside his jacket. Anything that the two had wanted or might have attempted to say became lost in translation as Dowling opened up once more.

  “I apologise to you both once again, for having to witness that spontaneous scenario. But I can assure you, it was absolutely imperative. As from now, you will need to trust me and my actions, therefore I suggest that you get back in to the car and try to relax. In the meantime, I have a few loose ends I need to deal with.” Impervious to any criticism that he’d rewritten a designer script, in a matter of seconds Dowling motioned the pair over to the car. Satisfied that they were out of earshot, he made an arranged call from his mobile.

  The orders were rubber stamped and Eastern wasn’t about to argue. Finally, he was verging on the good side of normality. “Life is for living, for Fucksake!” He fully convinced himself. Without further hesitation he swept a delirious Joan Travers up into his arms, a minute later they were huddled together in the cark, seeking a form of solace. Seemingly locked in conversation, Dowling could be seen pacing up and down, watched over by a tentative and much relieved Eastern. Or so he had thought.

  To all intents and purposes, his current position had suddenly morphed into another nightmare. He could only look on in utter dismay as Dowling pocketed his phone in exchange for the revolver, which he methodically rearmed before approaching the car. Eastern did his best to shield Joan, anticipating the worst was to follow. “The poor bitch won’t know what’s hit her,” he told himself despairingly. At the last moment, Dowling stopped short, as he drew abreast of his alleged accomplice’s dead body. Consistently wiping the gun clean, he placed it into the palm of the victim’s hand, before confronting Eastern once more. Under the circumstances, the latter decided to let Dowling do the talking. His opening gambit was bizarre to say the least.

  “Probably like yourself, I like to keep things nice and tidy, you know how it is.” In an instant, the moment became surreal, as a vision of his bed sit entered his subconscious. The scene caused him to laugh involuntarily, knowing that Dowling had murdered someone in cold blood just moments before. Dowling’s take on the situation far outbid his own thoughts, by adding another name to ‘tidy’. And then the situation as a whole melted into history as Dowling continued. “Just for the record, I have some additional transport arriving shortly, and we…” he circulated with his hand and continued, “need to make another journey. I would ask that you be patient at this time. That is, until it’s possible to fully explain my actions.”

  For his part, Eastern was having a problem coming to terms with Dowling’s sublime approach to the position now surrounding the three of them. Putting his own trauma to one side briefly, he recalled himself attempting to analyse the depth of the latter’s mind, at a previous moment in time. The stronger he contested it, the clearer it became, that his version of the man’s integrity hadn’t been swayed, in spite of this latest soul destroying experience. For the moment, the facts of the matter were put on hold, as a small adjacent service door suddenly opened. Eastern watched intently as a figure in dark garb and matching glasses entered. Having acknowledged the stranger, Dowling beckoned Eastern to follow him, along with Joan. Within seconds, the pair were blindfolded leaving Dowling to extinguish the lights in the lock up. Feeling powerless once again, they were ushered outside and put into a waiting car. Moments later the vehicle slid silently away from the kerb, engulfed in the prevailing mist, an
d swirling shadows of the night. The next voice they heard belonged to Dowling coming through the intercom system. “Please accept my apologies once again for the inconvenience of the blindfolds. They are merely a security precaution so I advise you not to tamper with them.”

  Having been forced to witness Dowling’s murderous mood swings earlier on, the pair were resigned to just sit back and collect their addled thoughts. “Where do you think they’re taking us Mike?” Joan whispered at length. “I don’t know how much more of this I can stand.” Eastern found her hand and gently squeezed it lovingly.

  “Try and hang in there Joan, something tells me that we’ve had the worst of it.” Adding, “It wouldn’t surprise me if the bloody car is bugged, and who the hell is the other guy that’s now involved?” The fact that they were subjected to dealing with complete darkness had jointly left their senses totally disorientated, thus rendering time and direction to become irrelevant. Mental exhaustion had now set in, and within minutes they were both mercifully sound asleep. Right now Eastern’s subconscious could be found sitting on a dozen fences divided by as many dark conclusions, chiefly being were the past events considered to be an aspect of reality, or had it all been a sick illusion? Or maybe, it was one poxy dream that he’d inherited. If that was the case, then it was still ongoing, featuring a demanding alien voice attempting to infiltrate his space.

  “Eastern! Wake up man, we have arrived at our destination and I need you to be on the case.” And then it was all over. He couldn’t be sure, but he guessed that it was Dowling in his face, shaking him, while at the same time giving orders to his companion. “I’ll leave you to deal with Mrs Conway, you’ve got a couple of minutes and then we go.”

  “Whatever.” Eastern told himself. “We’ve come this far…what the hell!” Doors…steps…corridors…ramps followed but not necessarily in that order and then dramatically came to a close at last. They were then ordered to remove their blindfolds. Truth to say, it was one order that they didn’t have a problem with. Squinting and rubbing their sore eyes, they slowly adjusted to the profound light. Instinctively, Eastern looked around to search out his captors.

  As it turned out, his aim became irrelevant, due to Dowling’s impatience to open up a dialogue. “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable, and then hopefully we can discuss your position when the matter becomes clearer. Incidentally, I’m sure you could both use some refreshment after your ordeal, tea or coffee perhaps?” Under the circumstances, a mediocre glass of water would have tasted like champagne. Without any ado, Eastern ordered two coffees. A brief lull existed, giving Eastern the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He noted that the medium sized room was sparse to say the least, consisting of a couple of chairs, and a token table at best. Access was limited to one main door, and the décor itself was Spartan. Visions of an interrogation room remained central to his thinking.

  Having succumbed to his coffee, and Joan’s needs, Eastern found himself desperate for answers. As usual, his ‘maverick’ persona got the better of him, along with sarcasm as a companion. “I can’t say that it’s been a pleasure Mr Dowling, although I…” A raised hand from Dowling immediately checked him in full flight.

  “We need to start the way that we intend to go on Mr Eastern, and it all starts here. I can categorically state here and now, that I was never at any time your Mr Dowling. ‘Winner?’ yes! For reasons that will become clearer later. As from now, you will only address me as Rogon. And I suggest, no, insist, that you take what I imply on board. Suffice to say, your life including Mrs Conway’s could depend on it, do I make myself clear?” The genesis of his statement now evolved into another added bolt from out of the blue.

  Eastern was losing it fast, he now found himself handling a ticking bomb, and he disposal formula could be found wedged in his mouth. Pointing at his coffee, the expression mounted on his face and relayed his sunken thoughts. Rogon hastily dismissed the gesture, and simply shook his head. “You have had a lot to deal with in a small amount of time Mr Eastern, so I can appreciate your scepticism….here.” Picking up the offending cup, he downed the remaining coffee. “Um, not bad, even for Government issue.” He ventured, and made a bad job of smiling in the process.

  At least the ice was now broken, giving Eastern a verbal franchise on the situation. “You specifically mentioned the word Government Rogon, could you define your logic? Only where I’m sitting, I’m having a problem dealing with it!”

  From then on, Rogon exposed his plastic attitude, in keeping with his role. “Yes, let’s move on from that. As things stand, yourself and Mrs Conway are being held here in a Government facility. Not, I hasten to add, for too long.”

  “No shit!” Eastern exclaimed. “How could I be that dumb?” He turned to Joan and nodded. “These guys are obviously security agents, I think we can at least relax at last.”

  “Indeed you can.” Rogon concurred. “Although I much prefer the heading of ‘spooks’.” He stressed. Eastern’s mind was now wide open, and he wanted more.

  “Tell me, am I right in thinking that this whole bloody charade was for mine and Mrs Conway’s benefit?” Rogon smiled in a cryptic manner, before replying in a conclusive manner.

  “Your nobody’s fool Mr Eastern, and I have to say, you have managed to keep the agency busy, since your intervention. And you Mrs Conway, could have done a lot worse, with regard to your own input. You must have realised by now that we had to set you both up, basically on the off chance that you might secure vital information, over and above our own, into bringing the existing conspiracy case to a close.”

  “Good God! And then there’s the letter s and the calls.” Joan implored.

  “Utter crap!” Care of yours truly, or ‘winner’ as I was referred to. They were all part of the game, besides which, you were both under 24/7 observation from day one. And I congratulate you Mr Eastern, on your findings and intuition. Oh, by the way, I think you may have previously met a colleague of mine?” Clicking his fingers became the signal to allow a figure dressed in black and wearing shaded glasses to enter the room. In his own time, he removed some wadding seated inside of his mouth, followed by his glasses and, in doing so, revealed the unforgettable and susceptible caretaker.

  Eastern found himself momentarily stunned into silence by the transformation. “And there was me thinking, what an idiot.” He spluttered.

  “I had to let you think that.” The man replied. “But do me a favour, don’t you mention the word ‘broom’ to me again! Incidentally, it didn’t take you long to find the all important cheque stub that I planted in the flat. And, before I forget, the lovely ‘Rita’ sends her love.”

  “Who the hell is Rita?” Joan demanded, glaring at Eastern.

  “It’s a long story Joan, we’ll deal with that one later. Right now, I need to know where we both stand, now that I’m beginning to get a handle on the situation.”

  “I’m pleased that you’ve considered your options Mike, if you’re happy for me to call you that?”

  “Why not indeed?”

  “I ask, simply because your work thus far hasn’t finished just yet. We, and that includes yourself, should you accept the mission, need to expose the ‘big one’. I feel confident that you can aid us to do just that. We are looking for an ‘inside man’, someone who’s familiar with the way the system works. You’re nobody’s fool Mike, and we are well aware that you have an ongoing source and contact on tap.”

  “Says who?”

  “Let’s just say that I’ve known for some time Mike. By the way, how is DS Curtis? He comes across as being one of your own, wouldn’t you say Mike?” Eastern shrugged his shoulders to symbolise defeat.

  “I’m not even going to ask you what you might know about our relationship, but yeah, you’re right as far as he’s concerned.”

  “Wise man Mike, I even know the colour of your underpants!”

  “Dismissing the personal attributes for a minute, surely you’ve got your own meth
od of dealing with high level criminal activity?”

  Rogon was emphatic when replying. “Of course we have without question…” He stopped short. “Or rather we did, until we unfortunately lost our whistleblower.” Eastern’s mouth dropped in utter disbelief at Rogon’s disclosure.

  “Are you saying that…”

  “Yes!” he interrupted vehemently. “Our agent was a Government ‘plant’, the whole thing was set up to include the tabloids on our behalf. That is how big an operation this is.”

  “And the arsehole who got ‘blown’ away shortly afterwards, where the hell does he figure in all of this?”

  Rogon was resigned into holding his head, before seeking an answer. “I won’t kid you Mike, I’m afraid you’re going to have to trust me on this one.” He went on to explain that he himself had secured an inroad into the hired gang responsible for murdering the whistleblower. “As a result, I was seconded into acting as a paid ‘hit man’ to murder yourself and Mrs Conway, the climax of that resulting in the showdown earlier on tonight.”

  “But the firm wouldn’t have known about my involvement right?”

  “On the contrary Mike, it seems that a bogus phone tap happened to pick up on a certain conversation that you had with DS Curtis. The rest you can work out for yourself.” Once again Eastern found himself wanting, eventually deciding to end on a lighter note.

  “The Mermaid, the first time that we ‘accidentally’ met, if you recall? I never did get around to having that blasted drink. So I’ll settle for another coffee if you don’t mind, my eyes are telling me something. In the meantime, where do you propose that we go to from here?”

  “Glad that you asked me that one Mike, so let me run this suggestion past you.” Rogon went on to explain that Eastern would be inaugurated as a member of the acting IPCC team. His undercover role would entail investigating the records and files department at Central and HQ, hopefully to seek out any discrepancies. Any form of liaison regarding explicit information would come via a selected call box, manned by agent ‘B’ to save time and the letter itself would alternate on a regular basis to uphold security.