REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES

by Gregory N. Taylor

  “Of course,” he replied.

  “Who is the target?”

  “Christian Marks.”

  “The squad player for Arsenal?”

  “That’s him. Yes.”

  “Good choice. He’s not a bad player but will never be a first team regular. Plus he’s not the sharpest tool in the toolbox.”

  This time Maurice wasn’t surprised at the Businessman’s knowledge. It was common knowledge that Marks had issues with the trustworthiness of the banking system.

  “And when do you intend to relieve Mr. Marks of his monthly salary?”

  “It needs to be soon. I’m working against a deadline.”

  “Of course you are. Well, the timing is right as he’ll be receiving his salary today and liquidating the cash tomorrow. The team that you’ll need? I’m thinking of yourself, someone to get you past the security system, and two others to bypass Mr. Marks’s security personnel. That should be enough. Normally I’d require a finder’s fee, which in this case would be the two hundred and seventeen thousand pounds left of your share – after the medical fee has been paid to Doctor Stefansson.”

  Maurice didn’t bother to ask how he knew the name of the doctor involved. He had rapidly come to the point when he thought it safer to assume that the Businessman knew everything about everything. The Businessman continued.

  “However, in this instance, I’m willing to waive this fee.”

  This wasn’t an act of charity on the part of the Businessman. Maurice was fully aware of the consequences of this offer. It meant that he would forever be indebted to the Businessman; he would be in his pocket. He didn’t like the idea of this, but he had no choice. One day he might receive a call to do something for the Businessman. And he would not be in a position to refuse.

  “My associates will be in touch with you tomorrow. Goodbye Mr. Boone.”

  The LED screen switched itself off. Maurice was left wondering if he was doing the right thing. Suddenly his hand felt hot and he opened his hand to reveal a pile of ash where the business card had once been.

  Chapter 13

  2 p.m. Friday, 27th January, 2051

  The café was almost empty. Maurice sat at a table in a corner, sipping his second cup of tea. Earlier that day a card had been delivered by hand, a rather antiquated delivery system considering that almost all communication was now by e-mail, SMS, or video-call. A number of the Businessman’s associates used this low-level technology for a very good reason; it was so old and so few people used it that it tended to be more secure than the other forms of communication, being resistant to prying electronic eyes and ears. The card had contained instructions for an appointment that had become visible when Maurice’s DNA had been automatically identified and authorized. That’s why he was sitting at a table in the Antique Plaza Café, wearing a shirt and tie. That had confused him too. Why did he have to wear a shirt and tie? It had definitely said to do so on the card. He was sure it had. But it was too late to check now for, just like the Businessman’s visiting card, it had self-destructed and was now just a small pile of ash sitting in Maurice’s kitchen bin.

  A man walked through the automatic door of the café. He was a slim, very dapper man with a rather angular face and a sharply pointed goatee beard protruding from his chin. He walked over to Maurice’s table and shook the accountant’s hand vigorously.

  “Hello there Maurice, my old friend. I haven’t seen you for absolutely ages.”

  Maurice had never seen the man before in his life, but decided that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to point that out.

  “Yes, it must be over five years…. Excuse me, I feel such a fool – I’ve forgotten your name.”

  “Manfred. Manfred Götze. You remember. We were at that seminar together.”

  “Of course. How can I forget that seminar? All those nights at the bar.”

  “Excuse me Maurice, but your tie is crooked. Allow me to straighten it for you.”

  Manfred, if that was his real name, leaned forward and straightened Maurice’s tie, discreetly transferring an electronic signal inhibitor from his index finger to the back of the knot of Maurice’s tie.

  “That’s better. Now we can talk freely.”

  Maurice hadn’t noticed it happen but the café was now completely empty. The two other customers who had been enjoying a romantic morning coffee together had vanished. Even the server and the girl at the cash-desk had gone. Now he and Manfred were totally alone. Manfred leaned back on his chair, visibly more relaxed now that security protocols were in place.

  “I understand you have a security problem.”

  Maurice’s mind made a mental inventory of his home security precautions. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was down to nervousness.

  “Um… no. I think my home is safe.”

  “No, Maurice. You need assistance in bypassing a sophisticated security system. Christian Marks’s security system. Am I correct?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Well, I’m here to tell you your troubles are over.”

  “If only.”

  “The operation is scheduled for 3 a.m. tomorrow morning.”

  “That quick? I haven’t had time to plan anything.”

  “That’s all been taken care of Maurice. You didn’t honestly think that we’d leave something as critical as planning to steal four million pounds to you, did you?”

  “To be honest, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “And that’s why I’m here, so you don’t have to think.”

  Maurice was quite happy to let Manfred take control. All he was interested in was getting hold of enough money to pay for Caitlin’s treatment. He’d prefer to leave things to the experts.

  “Just be on the corner of Regent Street and Piccadilly Circus at two o’clock tomorrow morning, with a dark holdall - one big enough to hold a million pounds. I’ll explain the plan then. Less time for you to forget it and no time for you to blab about it. Understood?”

  “Understood. How big does the bag need to be?”

  Maurice had no concept of what a million pounds in large notes looked like.

  “A regular sports bag should do it.”

  “Really? A sports bag? For a million pounds?”

  “People always think that a large sum of money will take up more space than it does.”

  And with that, Manfred deftly retrieved the electronic signal inhibitor from behind Maurice’s tie and left the café.

  Karen wouldn’t like him to leave the house at that time in the morning, but it was imperative that he did so. His daughter’s life was at stake.

  Later that night, Karen was sleeping in their bed – a good night’s sleep guaranteed by the bed’s ‘sleepEZ’ system which sent out a relaxing hum, the frequency of which was designed to keep the sleeper in a deep sleep until a predetermined hour, at which time it would change its function into that of an alarm, gently waking the sleeper who was sufficiently refreshed and ready to start a new day having had a great night’s sleep. When first introduced the technology had suffered a few initial teething troubles, specifically a malfunction of the alarm system which resulted in some sleepers being left comatose for days on end, but those problems had been ironed out now and the beds were once again considered safe.

  Maurice decided he had to take a risk and, although he didn’t like doing it, he had to deceive Karen. He crept around to his wife’s side of the bed and found the touch-screen display that was used to change the settings of the bed for that particular side of the bed. It was recommended to set the frequency to medium, so that unexpected noises would still wake the sleeper, but Maurice changed the setting for an even deeper sleep, ensuring that Karen didn’t wake up too early and find him gone. He was certain that he would be back home before she was woken by the bed’s alarm and she would be none the wiser. Explaining to her how it was that he now had one million pounds in his holdall might prove a little tricky, but by then it would be too late for her to complain. It would be a fait acco
mpli and the life of their daughter would be safe. Even Karen would have to see that he had had no choice.

  At 1 a.m. on Saturday 28th, Maurice silently left his house, ensuring that the house security was activated. Karen was sleeping peacefully. He had had no need to adjust the setting of Michelle’s bed; that girl could probably sleep through a hurricane. He walked the kilometre to the underground station, trotted down the concrete steps and bought a ticket from one of the automatic ticket vending machines. The station was reasonably busy, it being essentially the hangover of a Friday night. Several couples were dotted around the platform, probably after a night out at one of the several good restaurants in the area. In the corner, a group of raucous men were on a stag night, busily chatting up a group of drunken girls on a hen night. Maurice only had to wait two minutes before his train arrived and after an uneventful thirty minute journey he was at the rendezvous point. He checked his watch. It was 01:55.

  At exactly 02:00 two large black SUVs with tinted windows pulled up alongside him. The passenger door window of the first SUV slowly opened and a voice told Maurice to get in. Maurice did so, and saw that the driver was Manfred.

  “Good evening Maurice.”

  ““Good morning Manfred.”

  “Ah. Of course. It’s morning now. These early morning ops make me lose all track of time.”

  “So… what do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing really. You just have to scoop up your share of the money. My two colleagues and I will neutralize the security systems, both human and electronic. Then I will open the vault…”

  “Do you know how to open the vault?”

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. There hasn’t been a vault built that I can’t open within sixty seconds.”

  “Will anybody be killed? I don’t like the idea of people getting killed.”

  “Who do you think we are? We’re professionals. People only die if we want them to die, and we don’t want anybody to die tonight. We’ll be using pulse-guns, set to stun. The security guards will be knocked out for a couple of hours but that’s all. Nobody will die unless the setting is switched to kill. If that were to happen the heart of the unfortunate victim would stop in an instant and it’s off to reincarnation city he would go.”

  “I don’t need a gun do I?”

  “Depends if you want to risk being killed. If you are killed, we would be entitled to take your share of the money. I’m not saying we would – we know why you’re doing this, and we understand your dilemma – but we would be entitled to.”

  Maurice had fired an obsolete SLR assault weapon once at a history exhibition but he didn’t like the idea of firing a real weapon away from the confines of a secure and martialled environment. The only other weapons he ever fired were those connected to video games. However, he could see the benefit of carrying one tonight – he needed to be alive to get the money to the Norwegian doctor. If he died so would his daughter. And even if he had to shoot someone, they’d only be knocked unconscious for a couple of hours, they wouldn’t die.

  “It’s fitted with an automated external cleaning system so that if you drop it and leave it behind at the crime scene, there’ll be no fingerprints or DNA samples that the police can take off it. But you’re not going to drop it, are you Maurice? These little beauties are pretty expensive.”

  “I’ll do my best not to.”

  “Now, press the red button once for ‘off’, twice for ‘stun’, and three times for… well, you get the picture. They’re all set at ‘off’ for now. When we get there we’ll set them to ‘stun’. Understood?”

  Maurice nodded.

  Thirty minutes later the SUVs pulled up in a layby close to Cristian Parks’s large house. The group of four quickly dressed themselves in black jumpsuits, covering their faces with black gas-masks, and donned with night vision goggles. Maurice felt quite excited. He’d never done anything like this before; it was kind of exhilarating. Manfred went over the plan, a repetition for the other two members of the team, but it was the first time that Maurice had heard it.

  “Right. So you all know what you have to do? “

  Manfred’s colleagues nodded. Maurice was confused.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “You, Maurice, are essentially a passenger. You do nothing except pack your holdall with one million pounds in cash, come back to the cars, jump in one of them and then we all drive off. We’ll drop you off near your house and you’ll never see or hear from us again. You pay for your daughter’s treatment, my colleagues and I are each a million pounds richer, everybody’s happy.”

  The group edged their way silently to the main gate of the house, each man with a holdall slung over his back. Manfred took something from the side pocket of his holdall.

  “What’s that?” Maurice whispered.

  “Our key. Stop asking questions and keep quiet.”

  Manfred had in his hand a pad of small transparent sheets. Each sheet contained a DNA sample from Christian Parks. The Businessman was very thorough. He didn’t have DNA samples from everybody in London but he did have samples from anybody of interest to him - rich people. His supply network spread far and wide and he now had at his disposal a veritable cornucopia of useful DNA and fingerprint samples. Manfred pressed the first sheet onto the receptor of the gate’s entry system and the gate swung open. Once the group was through, Manfred closed the gates in the same way.

  “Now we’ll see how awake his security men are.”

  No guards came to investigate the initial intrusion of the four masked men. So far, so good, although Maurice thought it strange that they hadn’t been detected yet; surely a house like this would have cameras all over the place? Five seconds later he discovered why there was no flurry of activity. Two large Dobermanns came running around the corner of the building. Maurice wasn’t a great dog lover; he was even wary of small dogs and these two cousins of the hounds of the Baskervilles made him very nervous indeed. They certainly weren’t there to chase sticks or play ball.

  “Shit!”

  “Shut up Maurice. I’ve got this.”

  Manfred reached into his pocket and the dogs stopped sharp in their tracks, before settling down to sleep. Unknown to Maurice, Manfred had triggered a high frequency note that was inaudible to humans but could be heard by the dogs and had knocked the animals out cold. The group moved silently forward and hid behind two large ornamental garden pots.

  “Right,” said Manfred. They’ll have seen that the dogs are no longer a threat to us, so expect to see armed guards arrive any second. We’ll wait here and take them out. There’s a total of ten of them, but I doubt that they’ll send them all to investigate simultaneously.”

  “How do you know there’s ten guards?” asked Maurice.

  “The Businessman. That’s all you need to know.”

  Sure enough, three guards made their way out into the open, scanning the garden gingerly with their guns. Maurice had no idea what he was supposed to do; should he shoot them? Then he remembered that Manfred had basically told him not to interfere and decided to let his colleagues deal with the situation. He heard nothing but he saw three pulses of orange light leave the barrels of his accomplices and pound the security guards squarely on the chest. The guards were now just like the dogs; unconscious on the lawn.

  Manfred gestured to the other three that they should move forward and all four darted towards the door of the main house. Maurice had learned his lesson; he kept his mouth shut and let the others get on with what they were doing.

  They were by a large plate glass door. Manfred tossed two aerosol cans to his colleagues and they began to spray the glass with a white foam. Maurice was agog to see what would happen next. Five seconds later the glass began to melt before his very eyes.

  Manfred whispered to his wide-eyed passenger.

  “A few more seconds and we’ll be able to just walk into the house. And before you ask… yes, a silent alarm will have been tripped alerting the local police. But don
’t worry, they won’t be responding. Not yet, anyway.”

  “The Businessman?”

  Maurice was beginning to think that the answer to half his questions would be just those two words.

  “The Businessman.”

  The four of them stepped through the space where the window used to be. Manfred pointed to a door at the far end of the corridor.

  “That’s where the vault is. Looks like any other internal door of the house but it isn’t a normal door. Opens only when the DNA of Christian Parks is applied simultaneously to two sensor pads. Anyone else tries to open it and they’ll get fried by a high-voltage charge surging through their body. Fortunately, I’ve got loads of the guy’s DNA at my disposal. Wayne and Craig will keep an eye on the corridor and the garden. The guards will have realised we’re inside the house by now, so, Maurice, when the vault door is open, I’ll call you in and you can pack that Tottenham Hotspur sports bag with enough money to save your little girl.”

  Manfred casually walked up to the door and Wayne and Craig took up their positions, watching for any sign of the security staff. The leader of this little crew of thieves opened up his pad of DNA samples.

  There were two dull thuds behind them as a couple of security men fell to the floor, rendered unconscious by the beam of orange light that had been fired from Wayne’s pulse-gun. He raised his hand, gesturing that five of the security staff had now been dealt with, before quickly readjusting that figure to eight as Craig dispatched three more security guards to the land of slumber.

  “They don’t seem to be trying very hard to stop us,” whispered Maurice, as the vault door swung open.

  “That’s ‘cos they’re not,” grinned Manfred. “They’re giving just enough resistance so that the insurance company won’t get suspicious and reject the claim that Parks will no doubt file. It’s more or less a victimless crime. The other two won’t bother us now.”

  He beckoned Wayne, Craig and Maurice to enter the vault.

  “Right. Four piles. A million quid in each of them. Fill your bags and then let’s get out of here.”