Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  The raid that he’d just watched unfold was one that he was proud to witness. The SWAT teams had all taken their respective places without any giveaway signs of their presence and, when the order had been given, the warehouse and its occupants had been secured within minutes. What they found there was something of a surprise. The cache of illegal weapons that they expected to have to catalogue turned out to be bale upon bale of Category A drugs. Those bales reached from floor to ceiling, stretched back far into the warehouse and their value was barely calculable.

  “A good result.”, the Commander of the mission had said to him.

  “Not what we expected.”, he replied, “But yeah, not bad, I suppose.”

  “We’d never have found it if we’d been tipped off over drugs.”, another of the team leaders interjected, “Not the way that we’re being directed these days. Seems that certain areas of illegal activity are less important than others. But, we’re here now. And let’s count it a success. We know the terror links to illegal drug funds. It was worth it, even if your source seems to have misunderstood something along the way.”

  He didn’t believe that at all. Whoever they were, the people who had popped into his life didn’t seem like the sort to misunderstand much. He went with it anyway and enjoyed the press coverage of the warehouse contents being valued and the speculation that this might prove to be the biggest drugs haul in UK history. One that would forever have his name attached to it.

  When he arrived home, the handwritten envelope that had been slipped neatly into the rubber-band bound pile of other post that he’d received, didn’t surprise him. He’d expected further communication, although maybe not so quickly. He certainly hadn’t expected what that envelope contained. The note was written in a beautiful script and accompanied by a page ripped from a holiday brochure:

  ‘Good result. Maybe we should meet. Vacation time? All booked for you.’

  He had to wait until the following morning to ring the company whose details he had been sent, but when he did, they confirmed that yes, they had a paid-for booking for him for a short break beginning in two days’ time. He was due some holiday time. It wasn’t the sort of holiday that he’d ever considered taking but that didn’t really matter. It would be an escape and it had been paid for. It also promised to deliver a little more clarity about who was behind all this. Later that day, his leave authorised, as much by way of recompense for the way he’d been semi-suspended prior to his latest coup, he researched the destination he was headed for and began to plan his packing.

  Dave had made it very clear to Philian Gregory and Nathan Carrington that their latest request would be the last. It wasn’t said in a hostile way, nor were they offended when he made it clear to them. It was just how it had to be. Dave knew enough about what the two men were getting into to invoke a very understandable self-preservation clause. He knew also that they wouldn’t do the same for themselves. He’d seen it before. They were at the all-or-nothing stage and what would be would be. He still believed he had more to offer in life. Both parties respected the decision and their parting words hid no animosity. Dave would deliver the letter. His number would then be obsolete.

  “One out, one in.”, Gregory said as they left the hotel that had been their home for an extra unplanned night due to their latest target being out of town.

  “Sorry?”, Carrington seemed distracted.

  “Dave out, Walker in.”

  “I hope so.”, Carrington replied, “Nothing’s certain yet. Two of us is pushing it. We need that third strand.”

  “You okay?”, Gregory pulled the car over and looked at his friend, “You need to see a doctor. I know we were joking, but your weight gain isn’t healthy. And you don’t look too good.”

  “Leave it.”, Carrington snapped, “I can look after myself. I’m older than you and I’ve had a tougher time of it. Just let me be, okay?”

  “So long as you’re in control.”, Gregory sighed and pulled into the traffic. He didn’t like any tensions threatening the relationship that they had, but he was genuinely worried about the way his partner looked. He was controlling the drinking now, but it was inevitable that his drunken past would leave some scars. The weight gain was disproportionate and was bringing with it an unhealthy pallor to his friend’s skin. They were so close now, it would be a shame for Carrington’s health to fail them just as they neared the end.

  “You okay to let me handle this one?”, Gregory asked as they pulled into a leafy avenue where few cars remained after the daily exodus to various workplaces.

  “If you want.”, Carrington replied, “But I may have to step in.”

  “I just want to see if we can be a bit gentler.”, Gregory explained, “Maybe even get away without another killing? At least let me give it a go.”

  Carrington simply shrugged his shoulders and said nothing. The car cruised to a stop in a small parking area beside the local park and they retraced their steps towards the home that they knew to now only contain their target. They’d monitored the property from their hotel room, having fixed a discrete device into one of the many conifers that lined the drive and that had enabled them to see Tim Jackson’s arrival by taxi the previous night, and his wife and daughter’s departure the following morning.

  “He’ll be jet-lagged.”, Carrington said, matter-of-factly, “And exhausted after the symposium. Should help us a little. Your call though, direct or covert?”

  They opted for the latter. It proved to be the right call as they caught Jackson in his bed trying to catch up on sleep at a time when his body just wasn’t used to such a luxury. They checked the surroundings for any threats and passed the bedroom as harmless. Gregory spoke gently to wake Jackson up.

  “Mr Jackson, Sir, visitors.”

  “What…”

  “Just relax please,”, Carrington laid a firm hand on his shoulder, “and try to wake up. We need to speak with you.”

  That simple request was much harder to execute than they’d thought it would be. They got there in the end. Fortunately, there’d been a half pot of coffee in the kitchen that helped move things along. So far, so good for Gregory as no violence been used.

  “What do you want?”, Jackson drank the coffee and stared at the intruders.

  “Information.”, Gregory replied.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “No, seriously,”, Gregory kept his voice steady and calm, “we’re on a sort of fact finding mission. You’re next on our list and we’ll be gone as soon as you give us what we need.”

  “I don’t think I have anything for you.”, the surgeon was wide awake now and had plenty of time to assess the two visitors, “Although, if it’s professional advice you’re seeking, I’d say your friend is beyond help.”

  “Please.”, Gregory held Carrington back as he spoke, “There’s no need to be like that. We just need a few answers. We’re trying not to be too heavy-handed here, but you need to understand that we’ve not been too successful on that score of late. I believe you may be acquainted with Bishop James? Or perhaps, Eric Patterson?”

  “You?”, Jackson had heard about the fate of those two men from several sources. They’d warned him to be on guard. How he’d wished he’d taken notice.

  “Sadly, yes.”, Gregory smiled as he replied, “But altogether avoidable. Help us out and we’ll see if we can’t be a little less …well, I suppose… fatal.”

  “I don’t know where you got my name,”, Jackson tried to rise from the bed only to feel the shock of the cattle-prod that Carrington wielded, “but you’re barking up the wrong tree. I’m a psychologist. I work with all sorts. They pay me for research. I do the work and that’s it.”

  “Which may well be the case.”, Gregory replied, “And we hope it is. All I can tell you is that we have you linked with the others and that link puts you in the firing line, if you’ll forgive the pun, over something that or might not be h
appening. We’re starting to get a feel for it. But the details elude us. So, what research might be of interest to us?”

  “I’ll tell you, but I don’t really know how it helps you. A number of people have approached me to produce papers for them on my specialism, evolutionary psychology. The development of man into what man currently is by the process of evolution. Patterson was a professional contact, nothing else. James though, well, he put me in touch with a sponsor who wanted me to do some work on how the ‘human spirit’ fits into the evolution thing. Is there more to man than just a bunch of rapidly firing neurons? That sort of thing. I did the paper, they were happy with it and they said they’d be in touch. Satisfied?”

  “Your study is where?”, Carrington asked.

  “Down the hall, second left. The paper you want is in the filing cabinet, second drawer down, third or fourth file back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “We’ll give him time to check it out.”, Gregory told Jackson, “Although it doesn’t really mean much to us. I don’t want this thing to end in tears. Trust me. But my friend, well, he’s a different kettle of fish. He’s been hurt so badly. The Circle, they really hurt him. And the guys from The Haven, well, they just won’t leave us alone. Now, are you sure there’s nothing else we need to know?”

  The mention of The Circle had passed Jackson by without any visible effect. Not so when Gregory spoke the name of the club. He raised his eyebrows at Jackson’s giveaway and waited for the guilt to turn into words.

  “I know The Haven.”, Jackson confessed, “And yes, I can understand why an outsider might find their ways a little unpalatable. But it’s a private club. It’s a retreat from the boundaries of social convention. A place where anything and everything goes. If it went beyond its own doors, you’d be justified in being concerned, but it doesn’t.”

  “And you know that, how?”

  “Because it’s the rules.”, Jackson sighed, “There’s a code we stand by and it simply wouldn’t do to break that code. Now I say that, I realise how naïve I must sound. You’re not telling me that things are coming out of The Haven?”

  Whilst they waited for Carrington, Gregory outlined some of their findings so far. Jackson was clearly and reassuringly shocked by it all. To him, it had been a place of intellectual stimulus and challenging thought. It was only ever a game though. None of what they proposed was supposed to be acted out.

  “Seems that they deceived you.”, Gregory patted Jackson on the shoulder.

  “And our friend seems to have wanted to deceive us.”, Carrington said as he re-entered the room, “Your study is an interesting place. Got the paper you mentioned, thanks, but also found some more interesting projects. And some very interesting images. Anything more to tell us?”

  Jackson ran through the contents of his study in his mind and knew that there were too many things there that might be misinterpreted. As for the images, well, he’d been told not to display them but vanity had got the better of him.

  “I’ve got all I need.”, Carrington whispered to Gregory, “We need to head to Liverpool. You get the car ready, I’ll tie up our friend here.”

  “You know they’ll get you in the end.”, Jackson hissed, “Nobody has taken them on and succeeded.”

  “We seem to be doing okay,”, Gregory replied as he left the room, “and, thanks for your help.”

  “And you?”, Jackson asked Carrington, “What’s your role in this? I’ve done some interesting work on vengeance. You’d make a great case study. What on earth happened to turn you into what you are?”

  “Your family?”, Carrington turned the photograph that was on the bedside table to face Jackson, “Perfect in every way? Lovely parents, both successful, lovely children, one of each and innocent as buttons. You want to watch me rape and murder them before your eyes?”

  “No, leave them alone.”

  “You can’t imagine it, can you? But, if you want to know what makes me tick, think about it for a little while. How does evolution answer that one?”

  As he turned to leave, he hesitated for a moment, thinking of the trust that he and Gregory shared and trying to consider an alternative to what was about to happen. Outside, he heard the engine of the hire car revving. He looked at the resigned look on Jackson’s face and weighed up the pros and cons that he was presented with. The balance always swung one way. There had to be small sacrifices if they were to make the greater gain.

  “Sorry.”, he told Jackson as the gun appeared and the bullet slapped into his forehead, “And sorry, Philian. What else could I do?”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The scenic beauty of the M50 motorway was lost on the two men in the car as they sped to their next destination. The question hadn’t been asked, therefore, the answer hadn’t been given. Even so, Philian Gregory knew what had happened to Jackson, and Nathan Carrington knew how his friend felt about it.

  “Tell me I had a choice.”, Carrington broke the silence as the car laboured up one of the many inclines on the route.

  “That’s not the point.”, Gregory replied, “It’s just that there are too many killings. Executions. Irrespective of guilt, we can’t go on like this.”

  “But he told us he knew. He’d been tipped off. Guilty or not, he was close enough to them for them to want to warn him. And the stuff I found, it’s enough to justify it in my book. I told you, I didn’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.”

  “Granted.”, Carrington’s tone softened a little as he continued, “I concede the point. From now on, I promise, no more killing. I’m weary of it. None of them has eased the pain at all. And, you’re right, where does it stop? If I had alternatives, believe me I’d follow them. But it’s over now. We’re too close to the end. I’ve killed my last victim.”

  “I appreciate that.”, Gregory replied, “There has to be a more nuanced way we can deal with this. It was easier at first, so, we need to go back to the old ways. They’ll find us either way, so why leave a trail of bodies behind? You’ll leave the next one to me?”

  “I will.”

  “So, tell me what’s in Liverpool.”

  It wasn’t until they’d passed Birmingham that Carrington had read through the necessary documents and completed the summary of what he’d found in Jackson’s study. The academic paper had been dry and uninteresting, much less revealing than he’d hoped it would be. The other documents he retrieved were far more exciting. As were the photographs. In fact, the photos had been an unexpected bonus. They gave the lie to Jackson’s claim to be peripheral to events and they yielded knew names that fitted in with what the computer had told them. Jackson beamed with pride as he received honorary awards from the great and good, and he positively gloated as he posed on the golf course.

  “You realise what this means?”, Carrington asked.

  “It can’t be.”, Gregory refused to accept what they were seeing, “We know it all points to some political angle, but not where those photographs suggest. I accept they might tell us something and I’m as open to anyone about this whole thing being centred at Westminster, but not where you think it is. The Major, on the other hand, tells us a lot more. What I will say, is that if this thing has been orchestrated, it smacks of forces way beyond our control.”

  “It’s got to be worth the fight though.”, Carrington laughed, “A David and Goliath for the twenty-first century? And the stakes are so high. Remember Patterson and his reference to Reforgin? Imagine, if that wasn’t an accident, how the hell do you engineer something like that? And on what grounds do you justify it?

  “Let’s stick to Liverpool.”, Gregory simply couldn’t process the wider issues just now, given the miles he’d done and the stress he was under, “Talk me through the names and the details.”

  By the time they’d skirted Manchester, Gregory had his plans prepared. He made a call and received the answer that he wa
nted to hear. Time was ticking and it wouldn’t be long before Jackson’s daughter returned from school to find her father dead and her years of innocence destroyed. It was a simple plan. The sort that relied on playing it straight and trusting that nothing put a spanner in the works. If it all went pear shaped, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. Carrington would simply have to renege on his promise and Gregory would have to look away as he did so. Hopefully, that wouldn’t happen.

  “This ain’t like it used to be.”, Carrington was visibly surprised and impressed by the gentrification of the Liverpool Docklands and the waterways that surrounded them, “We should bring the boat up here when we’re through. Looks better than when I last saw it.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”, Gregory said as they parked the car by the waterfront and paid for an hour’s worth of waiting, “Go and check it out while I’m gone. I’ll keep my phone live so you’ll know whether to follow me. Okay?”

  Carrington watched as Gregory approached the converted warehouse that was now home to several television production companies and a number of luxurious apartments. He pressed the intercom and was buzzed through.

  “Mr Bottrell?”, he asked as the apartment door opened.

  “Yes, yes, Stanley Bottrell,”, the elderly man beckoned him in, “writer, artist, producer and visionary.”

  “You don’t mind if I ask for ID?”, Gregory stopped the man’s chuckling with his question.

  “Damned impertinence!”, Bottrell replied, “But I suppose it’s necessary. And I’ll see yours while we’re at it.”

  They exchanged documents and were both satisfied at what they saw.

  “Now, a little snifter for you, young man?”, Bottrell ushered Gregory into the huge lounge that overlooked the seafront.