The Rat Stone Serenade

by Denzil Meyrick

  Symington’s face had swollen, her right eye puffy and bruised. Bruce held his daughter as she hid her face in his chest. Daley leaned forwards, catching Scott’s eye. His grizzled detective sergeant – his friend – looked determined, but Daley could see something behind his eyes, a flash of fear, something he’d never associated with the man he’d come to rely on. Almost imperceptibly, Scott nodded to him; it was time they tried something. Daley’s response was equally subtle: a shake of the head only those watching very closely could possibly register.

  The huge screen was now completely unfurled. Members of the family and staff alike recoiled as the man in the cloak walked past them, awaiting the blow that would send them into oblivion.

  Having reached the screen, the man in the cloak stopped. An image flickered into life, illuminating the large dark room. He pointed at the screen.

  Everyone in the ballroom at Kersivay House watched as a picture began to form.

  43

  Neither Dunn nor Jock could see the man in the shadows. ‘Stay exactly where you are,’ he said gruffly. ‘Put the weapon on the ground.’

  Slowly, Dunn leaned down and placed the machine gun on the floor.

  ‘Now put your hands on your head and turn around – both of you!’

  Jock and Dunn did as they were told. They heard footsteps as the man walked towards them and retrieved the weapon. ‘You can turn back round now – but no funny business, mind.’

  ‘Percy!’ said Dunn, shocked to see the old caretaker hefting the weapon awkwardly on his shoulder.

  ‘I would have thought you’d have known better than to be involved with this shit, Jock,’ said Percy.

  ‘And just what do you mean by that?’ asked the big man, struggling to keep his voice low.

  ‘What have the Shannons done to you?’

  ‘Nothing – not directly, anyway,’ said Jock.

  ‘So why are you part of this . . . this plot?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Dunn.

  ‘I know everyone’s imprisoned in the ballroom – including your boyfriend with the gut,’ declared Percy. ‘You must be in on it, otherwise you’d be up there with the rest of them. What did they give you to betray your own folk, Jock – money?’

  ‘You’ve always been a stupid bugger, Percy. Put the gun down and listen to what I’ve got to say.’

  ‘And have you and this bitch overpower me? Not likely. She knows these marital arts, you know. She nearly broke my bloody wrist earlier on.’

  ‘You mean martial arts.’

  ‘Whatever they’re called, she’s a bloody danger as well as being a temptress. Has that big oaf that’s meant to be in charge by the balls. I hope you haven’t fallen for her charms, Jock. You’re too old for that shit.’

  ‘We’ve escaped. We’re trying to get to the village to get help,’ said Dunn.

  ‘And the band played ‘Believe It if You Like’. Do you think I came down in the last shower? I’ve seen some things in this house over the years, but these goings-on take the biscuit. I hope you haven’t harmed Mrs Shannon – you’ll pay if you have!’ he said, his voice suddenly raised.

  ‘You’ve been a faithful retainer all these years, Percy,’ said Jock.

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Och, I’ve always known who you really are. Now put the gun down.’

  Dunn looked on in amazement as the caretaker lowered the weapon and shrugged his shoulders. ‘You’re wrong – whatever you think is wrong.’

  ‘What does it matter now?’ replied Jock. ‘We’ve more important issues to consider, I think you’ll agree. The people up in that ballroom are in real danger, including your precious Ailsa Shannon. You have to help us.’

  ‘I will,’ said Percy. ‘But on one condition.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Just you keep your suspicions to yourself.’

  Dunn, now thoroughly confused, was about to ask what they were talking about when a distant crack echoed down the stairwell.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Percy, concern etched on his face.

  ‘A gunshot,’ replied Jock.

  FOR EVERY ACTION, THERE IS AN EQUAL AND OPPOSITE REACTION. The words were emblazoned across the huge screen.

  ‘This must stop now! What do you think you’re doing?’ shouted Daley, getting to his feet. A security guard marched over to him and forced him back into his chair with the butt of his weapon.

  ‘Sit down, there’s a good chap. Everyone shut up and watch the man!’ he shouted.

  An image of an emaciated child swaddled in a dirty blanket filled the screen. Flies swarmed around the child’s mouth, nose and eyes, which stared out of a gaunt, skeletal face. In the background a woman sobbed as a exhausted doctor in a white coat shook his head.

  The picture faded, to be replaced with stark black writing on a white screen: As a direct result of corporate actions taken by Shannon International in the developing world, more than twenty thousand children have lost their lives.

  The next display was different: a nameless UK high street, late at night. In a doorway sat a bearded man covered by an old sleeping bag. He patted a little dog by his side, its coat patchy where great sores had taken hold. The man looked at the camera, the desperate plea behind his eyes easy to discern.

  Again the image faded. Over eight thousand people have been made effectively homeless in the UK alone after being evicted from Shannon International properties or having loans and mortgages foreclosed by banks and other lending institutions controlled by the company.

  Now they saw an aerial shot of the ocean. Amidst the blue and green of the waves, a brown slick spread into the distance. Hundreds of fish lay dead on the surface, their silver bodies bobbing amidst the oil. A seabird, its plumage a black gloss, was dying, poisoned while trying to clean itself and fly away. It flapped its heavy wings in vain.

  The shot panned to a huge tanker. Brown filth spilled from the scuppers as the crew flushed out unwanted fuel. Though the flag was one of convenience, the word SHANNON, emblazoned along the side of the vessel, displayed the real inconvenient truth. Vessels, industrial plants and factories owned by Shannon International across the globe pump thousands of tonnes of toxic chemicals into our skies and seas every day, as though it is their right to destroy our world.

  A teenage girl stood on a dimly lit street corner. Her blonde hair straggled down her back, as the camera drew level with her. As she turned to face the lens, she pulled down her skimpy red top to reveal tiny breasts, like pimples on her skinny rib cage. She stuck her tongue into the corner of her mouth as she gestured with her hand. As a direct result of economic activity by Shannon International, hundreds of thousands, worldwide, find themselves in poverty, forced into crime and prostitution in order to survive.

  The wrinkled face of the woman spoke of old age and exhaustion. She sat on rough grass outside a hut in a shanty town. Around her, dogs barked, barefoot children played in the red dust and others went about their business. This woman has yet to celebrate her fiftieth birthday. On average, employees of Shannon International in Africa have a life expectancy of fifty-one.

  ‘Enough!’ roared Ailsa, getting to her feet, her face reflecting the glow of the screen. She stood her ground as the screen went blank and the cloaked figure walked slowly towards her.

  ‘We can use this side exit,’ whispered Percy. ‘I’m the only bugger who knows it’s here, I dare say.’

  ‘Isn’t it locked?’ asked Jock.

  ‘Yes, of course it is. I’ve made sure every door has been secured, what with all this shit going on in the last few days.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Dunn. ‘Doesn’t appear to have worked though, does it?’

  ‘Never mind that,’ said Jock. ‘How do you propose we get through? We can’t break it down. The noise would attract attention.’

  ‘I’m not that wandered,’ replied Percy indignantly. ‘Might like the odd dram now and again, but my mind’s all there. Here’s the keys.’ He pulled a huge
bunch from his pocket, each bearing a small wooden tag. ‘Now where is the bastard? I can hardly see in this light.’

  ‘Come on, man,’ pleaded Jock. They were at the end on a corridor and the only way forwards was through the old oak door.

  As Percy continued to fumble with the set of keys and mutter under his breath, Dunn held out her hand.

  ‘I think this is it,’ said Percy, trying to fit the old mortise key into the lock with shaking hands.

  ‘Please, we need to hurry,’ said Dunn.

  ‘Got, it!’

  ‘Aye, but we’ll have to get out of here quick. They’re all over the place . . .’ Jock stopped. Percy was leaning against the door, clutching his chest.

  ‘I . . . I have a pain,’ he said in a weak voice, as the door slid open and he fell out into the pale moonlight.

  Dunn leaned over him. ‘Percy, Percy, try to keep calm.’

  Jock bent down stiffly. ‘Can you hear me, Percy? Listen, we have to try to get to the village and get help. You understand, don’t you? We have to save everybody – we have to save Ailsa.’

  Percy’s voice was barely a whisper. ‘Do what you have to, Jock,’ he said, his thin fingers clutching the big man’s sleeve. ‘Save her, please. She’s all I’ve got left of . . .’

  ‘I will. We have to go.’ Jock tried to stand, but Percy, with the last of his strength, grasped his arm more tightly.

  ‘Promise not to tell anyone about us, Jock. My name . . .’

  ‘I promise, Lachie. You have my word.’

  Percy looked up at Jock, tears welling in his eyes. ‘I should have kept her safe. I’ve let her down,’ he whispered, as the light left his eyes.

  Dunn straddled the old man and breathed air into his mouth, then started the rhythmic pumping of his chest as she had been trained.

  Jock stared down and placed his big hand on her shoulder ‘Come on, lassie. He was an old man. All this excitement was too much for him, but he had had a good innings. We have to go – if we get into the shadows, we might have a chance.’

  Reluctantly Dunn stood up, drawing the small radio from her pocket. The security guards, confident she had been subdued, hadn’t bothered to remove it. ‘DC Dunn to all stations receiving. I’m OK and have managed to leave the building. The old man, Percy, is dead, his heart gave out. I couldn’t save him. I am going for help, over.’ She stared at the device, hoping that someone had heard what she had to say, even though she knew they wouldn’t be able to reply.

  The pair hurried away, leaving Percy’s body behind. His blue eyes stared across the land that had once been his home.

  44

  Bruce got up and stood in the way of the cloaked figure as he made his way to Ailsa, still standing boldly at the end of the long table. A security guard stepped forwards, ready to pull Bruce back into his seat, but the man raised his hand, the folds of his cloak falling loosely over his bare arm.

  ‘She’s my mother, you bastard. Lay one finger on her and I’ll kill you. I don’t know how, but I will.’

  At Bruce’s side, his daughter Nadia also stood, her chin jutting out bravely. ‘She’s my grandmother, don’t dare harm her,’ she said through her sobs.

  The man in the cloak paused for a split second then slowly removed his hood. ‘I know who she is,’ said Brady in his New York drawl. ‘And now you know who I am.’

  Despite himself, Bruce stepped backwards, gripping the table to remain upright. Gasps around the room were soon replaced by cries of bewilderment. By revealing his identity, Brady had shifted the emotion in the large room; the fear of the unknown was becoming contempt for the familiar.

  As though sensing this, Brady swung round, his handgun raised. ‘Who would like to be first?’ he said, a large smile plastered across his face. ‘Lynton? Or what about you, Maxwell? Yes, I think I’d like you to be with me at this difficult time.’ He nodded to a security guard, who pulled the cowering Maxwell from his chair at the other end of the room and marched him towards Brady.

  Maxwell was visibly shaking as he was deposited in a chair in front of Brady, who pressed his gun tight against the back of Maxwell’s head.

  ‘Now. Let’s play a little game. Who wants to save Maxie’s life – any takers?’

  Maxwell snivelled; keeping his head still, he looked around the table, wide eyes staring.

  ‘Oh, come on. Don’t be shy, guys. This is your new chairman, the guy you look up to. Can nobody think of anything that will save him?’ He paused for a minute, waiting for a reply. ‘Nothing, eh? I want to ask you a question before I blow your brains out, Maxie. I had a nice little plan brewing – scupper the associate companies, cause some panic, then get you elected as chairman.’ He leaned his head into Maxwell’s. ‘But you were ahead of me, weren’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ replied Maxwell in a quivering voice.

  ‘The Chinese and Russian mineral deals falling through. Do you think I’m stupid? I know you’ve set up a shadow company to take over the contracts.’ He gestured round the table with the handgun. ‘You saw the misery your family has caused – is causing – around the world. Aren’t you ashamed? Aren’t all of you ashamed? You sit in the lap of luxury, not lifting a finger, while people die – while the planet dies around you. All because you were born with the name Shannon. Or married one,’ he said, looking pointedly at Ailsa.

  ‘I promise,’ whimpered Maxwell. ‘I didn’t have anything to do with the mineral deals falling through. Nothing at all.’

  ‘You lying bastard,’ shouted Brady, forcing the gun into his head.

  ‘He’s not lying.’ Ailsa’s voice was calm and clear. ‘I’m responsible for that. What an executive board. All your schemes and plans, what a parcel of rogues. You’re by far the most impressive, Charles. But you’ve paid a heavy price too, haven’t you?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Your daughter. Veronica.’

  Daley was taking everything in, looking round the room for any chance to seize control of the situation. In his ear bud he heard Dunn’s voice and had to stop himself from crying out with relief. One of the security team caught his eye and patted his machine gun. Daley stared back, showing no emotion.

  It was as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders now that he knew she was safe. Despite the scene playing out in front of him, despite nearly dying on the Rat Stone, despite it all, he knew one thing was true. He loved Mary and he wanted to be with her.

  Daley saw Scott lean forwards and widen his eyes, as if trying to draw his attention to something. He followed his DS’s eye line and spotted one of the guards lighting a cigarette, his weapon hanging loosely by its webbing strap at his side. He moved his head a fraction, to show Scott he understood.

  Daley coughed, then Scott fell backwards in his chair. The guard dropped his cigarette and fumbled with his gun. He was too slow though. Daley dived from his chair, catching the man in a rugby tackle as he watched Scott roll back to his feet with the fluidity of a gymnast. He too dived at the security guard and the pair wrestled the weapon out of his hands.

  It had taken split seconds to disarm the guard. Daley heard screams as those in the room realised what was happening and rushed from their places around the table. In the ensuing chaos, he twisted round with the gun and brought down an onrushing security man with a short burst of automatic fire, which caught him in the arm. He turned quickly again, keeping low, as another charged towards him. Between them, Scott was still wrestling with the first guard. Despite the risk of hitting his friend, Daley raised the weapon, ready to fire. The man knew he was beaten and held up his hands by way of submission. Scott quickly stripped him of his weapons as Symington did the same to the guard Daley had shot down.

  Daley looked round. They had gained the upper hand, but it had been too easy. Something wasn’t right. He looked across at Brady and could see that he was equally unnerved.

  People had rushed for the large doors, but a bottleneck was forming, as though unable to leave the room for some reaso
n. Amidst the fleeing bodies, Symington appeared at his side, her right eye now almost closed where she had been pistol-whipped earlier. ‘Brady has Ailsa and her party at the end of the room – we have to consolidate!’ she shouted, as the screams of those unable to get out of the ballroom at Kersivay House grew louder.

  Daley saw Brady, his cloak now stained with blood, with two security guards, holding a small group of people hostage at the far end of the room, amongst them Ailsa, Bruce, Maxwell and Nadia, as well as Inspector Aitcheson and the constable from the Support Unit.

  Brady spotted Daley and called out. ‘Stop what you’re doing or I kill them all!’ The guard at his side fired a long burst of ammunition into the ceiling, bringing a terrified hush on the room.

  Daley was about to speak when Symington stood and walked towards the table. Though she was slight, her back was straight and her head high as she spoke to Brady. ‘We seem to have reached an impasse. Why don’t you give this up? You’re going nowhere from here. My officers are armed.’

  ‘You think you have the advantage? I have the cream of the crop here – the top Shannon elite, not to mention two of your men. You surrender or they die, one by one.’

  Ailsa stepped forwards. ‘Why are you doing this, Charles? In the years I’ve known you, haven’t we always got on well? You’ve even been on my side – I admire you.’

  ‘Isn’t all the misery this family has caused reason enough? Don’t you have any shame?’

  ‘I’m not a Shannon, remember.’

  ‘Oh, that’s right. I should have thought more about that.

  Let me tell you an interesting little tale,’ he said, holding up his hand when he saw the old woman was about to interrupt. ‘No, trust me, you’ll want to hear this, Ailsa.’

  ‘What now?’ whispered Scott, now at Daley’s side. ‘And how the hell can nobody get oot o’ here? Something’s no’ right, Jimmy.’