Extracted Trilogy (Book 2): Executed

by R. R. Haywood

  ‘Fuck off,’ she blurts. ‘I am so sorry, Alpha.’

  ‘It’s fine. Watch the road,’ he says again. ‘Delta said the same thing.’

  ‘I did,’ Delta calls forward.

  ‘We think Bertie Cavendish invented the time machine. We secured two of their operatives in Berlin. They died, but information they held has led us here. Understand?’

  Tango Two nods quickly and swallows. ‘Understood . . . Have you seen it?’

  ‘We think so,’ Alpha replies. ‘Our surveillance suggests the device manifests as a bright blue light shaped like a door. Although we also believe it is mobile and the size can be altered.’

  ‘Understood,’ she says.

  ‘His Majesty’s government is very keen to ensure we secure this device before any Johnny Foreigner does,’ Alpha says as they start bouncing down an unmade road towards the chopper waiting in the near distance. ‘We had dozens of agents in Berlin. Mother said they’re either dead or seriously injured. Bad for them. Good for you. Positions are suddenly becoming vacant. Juliet One was killed last month. Mother said you’ll be getting her position. That puts you in the top ten. India One was also in Berlin. If he’s dead, then you make ninth agent . . . Do you understand what I’m saying, Tango Two? Mother needs results. At any cost. This is a snatch mission, but we are prepared to do anything to secure either that device or the inventor . . .’

  Tango Two nods, a gritty reality sinking in. She signed the waiver because all the other female trainees signed it. It was expected. The expectation is that agents will do anything to serve their country.

  ‘Are we clear, Tango Two?’

  ‘We are, Alpha. Very clear.’

  Six

  ‘BLUE,’ Harry shouts, seeing the device come instantly to life as Miri activates the tablet in the portal room. ‘VERY BLUE.’

  ‘STOP SHOUTING,’ Safa shouts.

  ‘HAHA,’ Harry laughs.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Ben mutters, shaking his head as he stares at them both, then looks round to a somewhat defensive Doctor Watson.

  ‘Wasn’t cocaine,’ the doctor says again.

  Miri looks up at them from the tablet held in her hands. Finding Cavendish Manor was easy. It was logged in the software system as Roland’s House for a start. That fact, along with nearly everything else, appals her. The lack of security is staggering. The lack of care taken for something so powerful. In her mind, it’s like asking high school kids to look after a nuclear arsenal.

  She places the tablet down and draws her pistol from the holster, which makes Safa instantly counter-draw with a speed that even Miri finds impressive. A second of eyes locking. Of Safa’s pupils now huge from whatever drugs she has been given, but staring intently.

  ‘Er, everything alright?’ Ben asks carefully.

  ‘Weapons check,’ Miri says, making a point of turning away from them to eject the magazine from her pistol.

  ‘What for?’ Safa asks, the words coming too fast and too loud.

  Miri checks the weapon and reloads with a show of confident hands that have done the same many times before.

  ‘I said, what for?’

  ‘Coming with you,’ Miri says.

  ‘Are you asking me or telling me?’

  ‘Argue later.’ Miri holsters her gun and picks up the tablet. She thumbs the name Roland’s House and glances up as the device once again bathes the room in shimmering blue. ‘Blue is live. I’ll go first,’ Miri says as Safa rushes past.

  ‘I’m on point,’ Safa says. ‘Harry behind me. Ben next, Miri on rear . . . Shit a brick, I am buzzing my tits off . . .’ She goes forward through the wall of iridescent light with Harry hot on her heels. Both with pistols drawn and held double-handed, pointing down. Ben blinks once and follows them, still wincing as he touches the light, as though he can’t quite believe he’ll pass through it.

  Miri goes last, hiding her irritation. She starts the stopwatch with a glance at the time on the tablet and passes through, leaving the good doctor staring at the blue light with the crushing knowledge that right now, he is the only human being on earth.

  ‘Where the fuck is the handle?’ Safa whisper-snaps as Harry bunches up behind her from Ben bunching up behind him from Miri coming through.

  It may be a large wardrobe for clothes, but four people now make the space feel very cramped and confined. Especially with Safa pawing at what she thinks is the door while cursing at why it won’t open.

  Ben blinks round at the tight space now bathed in blue from the portal shimmering behind them. Safa moves back, tutting at Harry in her way, while still moving too fast and too wired from the drugs in her system.

  ‘Move over,’ Safa whisper-snaps again, trying to glare at Harry, who tries moving away, which physically shifts Ben into Miri, who pops into the Cretaceous period, nods at the good doctor and returns to the chaos in the closet.

  ‘. . . said I can’t bloody find it,’ Safa says, her voice growing louder as her pistol clunks against the inside of the closet door.

  ‘And I said they don’t put bloody handles on the inside,’ Ben whispers back, trying to peer round Harry to Safa. ‘There won’t be one.’

  ‘Then how do we get out, Mr Smartarse?’ Safa asks.

  ‘Push the bloody door,’ Ben groans, then yelps as Harry stands on his foot.

  ‘I am pushing the door . . .’

  ‘Sliding door,’ Miri says quietly from the back.

  ‘Miri said sliding door,’ Ben relays the message.

  ‘Hang on, I think it’s a sliding door,’ Safa says.

  The sound of rollers as light bathes the room to reveal four armed people peering out into a very large, luxurious bedroom. Safa’s pistol lifts to aim as she sweeps. In her peripheral vision, she sees Harry doing the same, then two more joining in.

  ‘Put your gun away, Ben.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I bloody said so. Put it away.’

  ‘Fine,’ he says, pushing it back into the holster.

  ‘Is the safety on?’ Safa asks.

  ‘Didn’t take it off,’ he mumbles.

  ‘Moving out,’ Safa says, striding into the bedroom to point her pistol at the bed, at the set of drawers and the mirrors, while Harry points his at the door, at the corners and everything else. ‘Room clear,’ Safa says, nodding too fast as she realises her heart rate is too high. She draws a deep, steadying breath and blinks a few times.

  ‘Nice room.’

  ‘DOWN,’ Safa shouts as she, Harry and Miri spin round to aim at the poor doctor falling back with his hands up.

  ‘It’s me,’ he whimpers.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Safa asks. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Thought you might need a medic,’ he says, trying to stand upright and regain his dignity.

  ‘Who said you could come? This is a live job, for fuck’s sake,’ Safa says.

  ‘You try being the only person on a planet, and see if you like it,’ Doctor Watson retorts, blustering and red-faced as Miri rubs the bridge of her nose.

  ‘Jesus,’ Safa growls, knowing how bad they look in front of Miri. She tries to focus and switch on, but finds herself blinking rapidly again and twitching her head and shoulders. ‘This is a shower of shit . . .’

  ‘Safa and Harry abort,’ Miri says. ‘Return to HB. Me and Ben will proceed.’

  ‘HB?’ Ben asks with a puzzled frown. ‘What was that again? Hungry bunker?’

  ‘Home base,’ Safa says tightly. ‘We’re fine. Doc, go back . . .’

  ‘I shall wait here and guard the portal,’ he replies quickly.

  ‘Fine. Just don’t bloody move anywhere,’ Safa says.

  ‘You can rely on me,’ Doctor Watson says bravely.

  ‘Said the drug dealer,’ Ben mutters as Safa goes back to the bedroom door being glared at by Harry.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ Safa says, getting in front of Harry. ‘I’ll look right, you look left,’ she tells the big man. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Aye, when you’ve been in
a war with tanks,’ Harry says loudly.

  ‘What?’ Safa asks. ‘Never mind. Right . . . ready?’

  ‘You said left,’ Harry says.

  ‘I meant right! As in okay . . . We’re going . . . now . . .’ She opens the door to sweep out with her pistol up and aimed to the right as Harry surges past to aim left. Ben nods in admiration at how cool that just looked. Like something from a movie. He still doesn’t feel scared. This is only Roland’s house. The baddies were all in Berlin about an hour and a half ago; there is no way they’ll get to here in that time. Wherever here is.

  ‘Where are we?’ he asks Miri.

  ‘Roland’s house,’ she replies, giving him a blank look.

  ‘No, I mean what country?’

  ‘I told you. England. Hampshire.’

  ‘Ah, right, yes, you did say that,’ he says amiably as Safa groans that her side is clear.

  ‘What?’ Ben asks at the sound of dismay. He walks out of the bedroom to look down a wide corridor. First or second floor, judging by the view from the windows. Doors on both sides. Everything quiet.

  ‘It’s bloody huge,’ Safa says.

  ‘Yeah,’ Ben says. ‘Nice house.’

  ‘I mean, it will take ages to clear.’

  ‘Clear?’ Ben looks around, then over at the big windows and the view of the gorgeous grounds outside. A summer’s day. All pretty and picturesque. Like something from a postcard. Willow trees and manicured lawns. He leans over a little to catch sight of what looks like a pond or a water feature further down in the grounds. ‘It’s daytime,’ he adds.

  ‘And?’ she asks.

  ‘Well, it’s a big house, but it’s still a house. Bedrooms at the top and the living rooms on the ground floor . . . which is where most people tend to be in the daytime, and if the son is an inventor, then he’ll probably have an outbuilding or a garage, I would have thought.’

  ‘Oh,’ Safa says, staring with drug-induced fascination at the way his lips move and the sparkle back in his eyes. She takes in the scar on his face and how different he looks now after the decline he suffered over the last few months.

  ‘Safa?’

  ‘Huh?’ Safa asks, blinking at Ben. ‘Yep, downstairs then. Harry, where are the stairs?’

  ‘Er, right there,’ Ben says, pointing to the top of the stairs a few metres away.

  ‘Yep, good . . . er . . . Harry? Seen any other stairs?’

  ‘Aye, when you’ve been in a war with stairs.’

  ‘Shush,’ Safa whisper-shouts, blinking at Ben’s scar.

  ‘Need to move,’ Miri says bluntly.

  ‘We are,’ Safa says, giving her a withering teenager’s look and even adding a tut before heading towards the stairs.

  ‘Maybe we should just call out?’ Ben suggests as they start descending, and feeling left out by everyone else holding a pistol while he is strolling down with his hands in his pockets. ‘Harry’s got a loud voice.’

  ‘Aye,’ Harry says.

  ‘No,’ Miri says from the rear. ‘Go faster. Stay quiet.’

  ‘Go faster, stay quiet,’ Safa mimics in a voice that she thinks is under her breath but instead comes out really quite clearly and leaves a very awkward silence hanging in the air.

  They reach a landing and establish the portal was on the top floor of a three-storey house. Again, the main wide corridor leads in both directions, with rooms going off. Light and airy, with paintings and pictures hanging from walls. Bespoke tables stand nestled here and there with vases of perfectly arranged flowers on the top. Safa focusses on trying to widen her eyes and stretch her jaw while craning her head over side to side. She blinks constantly; her whole body feels full of energy. Harry is the same, and has to physically stop himself from whistling a jaunty tune.

  The descent continues as they move down the last feature staircase, which widens at the base directly opposite the double-sized entrance doors. Miri holds position at the back, watching the others intently, studying everything they do.

  Ben stays in the middle, casting an appraising eye over the fixtures and fittings. The signs of affluence are everywhere. Roland is minted. His house is just incredible, and Ben knows the price of property in Hampshire even back in his time was astronomical. As they reach the bottom, so the first sound of voices is heard from the ground floor somewhere at the rear of the house.

  Safa pauses at the bottom, holding still with her head cocked. Harry taps her shoulder, indicating a hallway running off at the back of the huge, atrium-like lobby.

  ‘Faster,’ Miri mutters from behind them.

  Safa speeds up, striding into the inner hallway. Harry close behind. Both with pistols gripped and held down. Ben rushes after them.

  Safa stops with a hand held up in a closed fist. She waves it once, then turns it into a flat palm and points towards an open set of doors ahead on the right. Voices within. Male and female. The clink of cutlery on a plate. A chair scraping on a wooden floor. Safa peers back to nod at Harry and Ben, and catches the wave from Miri urging her on.

  Hundreds of hours of drill and training kick in as Safa surges through the door into the room. The pistol lifts automatically as her eyes take in the three people at the table.

  ‘POLICE OFFICERS,’ she shouts, ‘STAY STILL, STAY STILL . . . DO NOT MOVE . . .’

  Roland and the two women freeze with forks raised to mouths, eyes wide with fright.

  Harry strides past her to the French windows at the back of the dining room giving a view of the perfectly striped lawn beyond.

  ‘What the . . .’ Roland mutters, food falling from his fork. Ben takes in the room. The gorgeous hardwood dining table. The fine china plates. The gleaming silverware. The expensive ornaments and artwork dotted about the room. The sheer luxury in which Roland lives while they were cooped up in a sterile bunker and ate fruit and eggs listening to him moan about the cost of everything and how hard it was to get money.

  Two women at the table sitting either side of Roland. Both dark-haired. One older. One younger. Ben takes in the older woman’s dyed hair and smooth skin that speaks of cosmetic alteration. The year here is 2061. Roland died in 2046. Ben looks again to the younger woman wearing glasses. Black hair and blue eyes, pale skin. She must be Roland’s daughter. The older one must be his wife.

  ‘BEN!’ Safa snaps at what her drug-addled mind takes to be him gawping. ‘Get them moving . . .’

  Safa’s voice brings sense back to Roland, who drops his fork. It lands with a clatter on the fine china plate as he rises from his hardwood, antique dining chair.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ he demands. ‘Miri? What the . . . Safa, put that damned gun down . . . Why are you here?’

  Susan rises quickly to move closer to her daughter. Protective, while clearly very frightened. ‘Roland? What’s going on? Why are they here? You said they wouldn’t come here . . .’

  ‘Hi,’ Ben says quickly, seeing the worry on Susan’s face. ‘Sorry for the intrusion. I’m Ben. You must be . . .’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Safa growls. ‘Stop chatting . . . Move!’

  ‘Extraction now,’ Miri says from the doorway.

  ‘Extraction?’ Roland asks, looking from Miri to Ben. ‘What?’

  ‘Attack on the warehouse . . .’ Miri says.

  ‘Roland, please ask them to put their guns away . . .’ Susan says, her voice quavering.

  ‘I can explain,’ Roland says, glancing at his wife. ‘Miri, what . . . Why are you here? I gave no authority for you to . . .’

  ‘NOW,’ Safa shouts. ‘Up . . . Get moving . . .’

  ‘You must be Safa?’ the younger woman says, staring in awe.

  ‘You must be deaf. MOVE NOW,’ Safa retorts. ‘Ben, get them fucking moving . . .’

  ‘BOSCH INCOMING . . .’ Harry’s eyes take in the tree line bordering the perfectly striped lawn that disgorges heavily armed, black-clad figures. His huge voice booms, making Roland yelp.

  A wall of noise thunders towards them. Harry steps back, suddenly unsure
at a sound he thinks he knows. Like propellers on an aircraft, but different. Everyone else instantly connects the sound to helicopter rotor blades creating air displacement as a chopper goes overhead to drop down over the perfect lawn. It holds for a second. The pilot inside easily visible. The chopper lifts a bare second later. Ropes thrown out from the sides unfold as they drop, with black-clad figures already positioned on the landing skids ready to rappel.

  More rotor blades thunder in. Heavier, deeper, more solid and serious. Safa goes with Miri to look out of the windows. Both of them catch sight of the gunships coming in low and the figures now sprinting across the lawn. Black-clad. Balaclavas. Submachine guns. Professionals. Further back, they spot the motion of more forms and catch sight of camouflage-wearing soldiers close to the tree line.

  ‘Son,’ Miri says, noting the time on her wristwatch. ‘Where?’

  Roland balks, unable to comprehend the noises outside and the questions being thrown at him.

  ‘Bertie’s in the cellar,’ Ria says, rising from the table to look out on to the grounds.

  ‘Sir! Sir!’ A man runs into the room from a door on the side leading to the kitchen. A smart black suit, white shirt and white gloves.

  ‘Is that a fucking butler?’ Ben asks. ‘Have you got a butler?’

  ‘Men coming, sir,’ the man blurts. ‘From the front, sir. They have guns, sir.’

  ‘An actual butler,’ Ben mutters. ‘You cheeky sod . . .’

  ‘I SAY, MIRI?’ Doctor Watson shouts down the stairs. ‘GOT SOME CHAPS RUNNING ACROSS THE GRASS. ALL DRESSED IN BLACK AND CARRYING GUNS . . .’

  Seven

  The five and Tango Two check weapons as the heli flies low over the lawn. Alpha readies himself on one side. Bravo on the other. Charlie, Delta, Echo and Tango Two wait between them.

  A tap on the arm. Delta motions for Tango Two to lean in. She bends forward so his mouth is next to her ear.

  ‘Mother’s watching us,’ he shouts over the noise of the rotors above them, his hand lingering on her arm. She looks at him as he points skyward, and nods. The abstract notion settles for a bare second that something in low orbit in space is now watching them in perfect clarity and detail, and that signal is being fed to Mother right now.