The Cult of The Enemy: The Dark Places Trilogy

by S. G Mark

  “Is that how you’d describe it?”

  “Jack,” Alex leant forward, excitedly, “You have done more for this organisation than I ever anticipated. Quentin is dead because of you. You stole his fucking emails. Jack! Because of you, we are closer than any of us have ever been. You do realise, don’t you, who you were just speaking to? David White’s private secretary.”

  “I know who I was speaking to, Alex,” Jack said, bitterly.

  “Jack,” Alex cut him off, “You led this organisation when I’ve not been able to. You’ve asserted your authority, you’ve done the right thing. Jack, there are MPs out there trembling because we’ve been following them. You’ve launched an investigation into the GD - something I’ve never had the chance to do. But you did it. You took it upon yourself to lead when I wasn’t able and you were… fantastic.”

  Jack smiled weakly. He wasn’t convinced. Alex avalanched through the awkwardness.

  “Jack, I trust Kyle… but you? After the past few weeks? I trust you to the ends of the Earth.”

  “They all think I’m the leader, Alex,” he said.

  “What does it matter?”

  “My own father was on the news this evening,” Jack said, “Begging for me to turn myself in.”

  “Let him do what he thinks he needs to do.”

  “God, Alex, do you even understand what it’s been like?” the anger erupted in him, he scarcely saw it coming, “You get to... get to hide in the shadows, you get to make your secret plans and whatever happens, you’re protected. I’m on the fucking news. Daily. My face has been plastered on every fucking bulletin board across the country, and you expect me to be okay with that? I’m only alive out of fucking chance - out of the fucking slim possibility that someone out there recognises a depressed, aged version of the youthful twat that’s on their fucking television screens! You might not think I have anything left to lose, but you’ve never had to go through that. If I’m caught, that’s it. I’m a fucking dead man - and will you… will you take my place?” Jack paused for effect, “No, I didn’t think so.”

  “Jack, you need to understand that -”

  “That what, this is good for the organisation?”

  “Yes!” Alex exclaimed, “You were always involved, Jack. What’s the difference if the media think you’re leading us?”

  Jack looked at Alex deeply and tried to penetrate his self-importance, “You have no idea how I’m feeling, Alex.”

  Alex downed the rest of his pint, “I know,” he said, “But I can’t stop what’s already started.”

  Angrily, Jack drank his pint. He was annoyed that Alex wasn’t even going to entertain the idea of stepping forth and taking the heat from Jack. It wasn’t an option, and he knew it. The media had already delved too deeply and dedicated too many headlines for Jack to simply be replaced by another name, another face. They were in this together, equally now.

  “Claudia won’t be ready for another couple of weeks,” Jack said, “But I think when she is finally ready, she’ll not hold back. At the moment, I think she is conflicted over where her allegiances lie.”

  Alex nodded, “I suspected as much. I tried to get close to her a couple of years ago, but this was back when David White was in power. It was impossible.”

  “So what now?” Jack asked, “We can’t stay here.”

  With the reason that had brought him to Sevenoaks in the first place best left undisturbed, there was no reason for either of them to be here. Being this close to London was making Jack anxious as well. It was the symbol of power in the country - all those watching eyes, those CCTV cameras catching every moment, every soul.

  “Debrief me,” Alex said, “What else have you been planning behind my back?”

  He smirked. Jack responded grimly.

  “Melanie and Kim have been tracking all the MPs. Kyle’s been investigating the buildings Quentin was referring to in his emails. He managed to obtain an early blueprint for a building with the same lot name. It’s in Aberdeenshire, and that’s where he is now.”

  “Does he have an idea what the place is for?”

  “None whatsoever,” he said, “But it was huge. The blueprint didn’t have much detail, but the building’s going to be massive.”

  “And it’s in a town in Aberdeenshire?”

  “I’m not sure about town, Kyle didn’t say exactly where it was.”

  Alex pressed his finger to his temple as he thought. His shirt tightened around his chest and Jack saw the ridged striations of the bandages underneath.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  “I was shot,” Alex said, “What do you think?”

  “Sorry, it’s just the last time I saw you, you were lying upstairs in Joseph’s bedroom barely able to speak.”

  “I know,” Alex said, irritably. “I was there.”

  Jack pictured Alex’s blood soaked clothes and lost focus in the conversation.

  “Any more leads on the Mole?” Alex continued.

  “I killed my source,” Jack said, focussing on fighting the flashback, “But he wasn’t the mole. I’m sure of it.”

  “Your source? The one who gave you the intel on Quentin? No, there was no way of knowing exactly which date we would have chosen. You gave us what, a month’s worth of events in his schedule? Your source might have told them to be more alert, but someone knew our exact movements that day.”

  “It’s not Mike or Phil,” Jack interjected. He wasn’t sure if Alex knew or not. He probably did. “Both their families were killed following their arrest. They wouldn’t do that to someone who was on their side.”

  “Wouldn’t they?” Alex raised his eyebrow, “We don’t know what these people are capable of. But you’re right, I don’t think it was either of them. It’s someone else in our group. I’m sure we have more than one, but I don’t give a shit about the small fry. This bastard is so close to us, we have to be careful from now on. Kyle’s still the only one who knows?”

  Jack recalled his conversation with Lana.

  “There’s one more,” he explained the circumstances behind revealing the truth to Lana.

  Surprisingly Alex was fine with it, “I’ve heard good things about Lana. She’s a big player in London now.”

  “Do you have any thoughts on how to trap them?”

  “None yet,” Alex said, “But from now on, we run everything by each other? I like Kyle very much and I’m happy for him to help us find this bastard. But you’re the only person I can really trust, Jack.”

  It was warm and reassuring to know his place at Alex’s side, as if the last three years had never happened.

  “What do we do then? Just sit tight?” Jack asked, a sudden shiver slithering down his arms.

  Alex was staring hard at the dregs of his glass. What was left of the beer was mostly crackling foam.

  “I don’t know, Jack,” he said, and for the first time in a long while he looked frustrated. “I really don’t fucking know.”

  They exchanged a look; suddenly Alex looked a lot older than twenty-nine. The crevices in his face were more defined. Heavy sacks hung under his eyes. A greyish tint scanned across his face, where once there was useful pigment.

  “I really thought we had them,” Alex said, “When we managed to break into his estate, I really thought we’d won some ground. But it was all an illusion. This whole fight has been an illusion.”

  “I don’t even know who we’re fighting,” Jack cut in, “I thought it was them, the government, but it’s not. It’s more than that.”

  Alex nodded solemnly, “I know.”

  “It’s never been easy, Alex,” he said, “But this… it seems beyond any of us. What are we doing? Breaking into MPs houses and raking through their emails? What are we hoping to find?”

  Alex looked abruptly at him, “A reason for all this? A reason why people in this country are suffering. Know your enemy - how can we hope to end this when we don’t even know why this is happening? What are their reasons?”

  “An
d what if there are none? What if it’s just something that is happening?”

  Instantly, Alex looked away.

  “In all this, has there ever been a consistent reason? It’s hate, hate, hate thrown in all directions - from them to us, us to them, rich to poor, poor to rich - it’s everywhere. Everyone’s pointing the finger at someone else and we’re left wondering who started it? Why does it matter who started it?”

  Alex made to say something, but his voice lost.

  “Believe me I would love for this to be simple, but it’s not. We’re fighting this… this entity and we can’t even give it a name. It’s not the government. It’s not the people.”

  “What’s in a name?”

  “Everything, Alex - think about it? The Resistance. There was a time once when that name gave me nightmares and when my name was associated with it, I ran with cold sweat. God’s Disciples - anger instantly pumps through my veins. What’s in a name? Anything, absolutely anything you want. For years we’ve been recruiting - and who do we get? Straggly teenagers wanting to rebel, old men too fat to outrun the gunfire. We’re asking them to risk their lives for something we can’t even properly define?”

  Alex looked soulfully into the bottom of his glass before suddenly jumping out from the booth with it and traversing the short distance to the bar. Hopping underneath it, he immediately began pouring himself another pint.

  “Sam’s taking a while?” he asked.

  “Probably fetching all his reports,” Jack said, “He might be a while. The other night he showed me some from last week. Took the best part of three hours.”

  Alex smirked, “Blithering idiot.”

  Although Jack agreed with him, he was incessant with anger. There he was pouring himself a pint from Sam’s pub, with the nerve to insult him as well? It didn’t matter that he wasn’t nearby or that he might have been an idiot.

  Returning to the booth with his pint, Alex sat down and sighed.

  “Sometimes I think you need to be an alcoholic just to function in this life,” he said, taking a large gulp.

  Jack empathised. Though he wasn’t going to have another, he couldn’t say that he didn’t want to.

  “Does she know?” Jack asked, almost catching himself off guard.

  Alex returned a blank stare, but Jack knew it was an act.

  “I need to know if she’s in danger,” he said, trying to plead with the man’s humanity.

  It took a few seconds for him to reply, but when he did Jack was not entirely reassured.

  “I wouldn’t let anything harm her,” he said. “Anything or anyone.”

  The tone was unmistakable. Satisfied that she was at least still alive, Jack laid the matter to rest - at least as far as Alex was concerned.

  “So,” Alex broke the tension, “What now? Everything appears to be a waiting game. My feet are becoming itchy.”

  Jack nodded in wholehearted agreement, “I don’t like the feeling either. Claudia will come through for us, but I can’t promise when and we can’t just wait for the day that she does.”

  “Kyle is up in Aberdeenshire?”

  Jack nodded, “Has been for several weeks I think.”

  “Let’s go,” Alex said, excitedly. “This is one of the most intriguing things we’ve come across since I joined. Let’s go and find out more about it. When was the last time he checked in?”

  “A couple of days ago - he didn’t say much though,” Jack said, recalling the brief conversation he’d had over the phone.

  “I need to feel that I’m doing something,” Alex said, necking another quarter of his pint, “Lately I’ve just been feeling completely -”

  “Lost,” Jack finished his sentence emphatically.

  The two stared at each other, a million words buoyant on the booze air between them. It had reached a stage in their friendship that required little communication. Jack was tired beyond measure. The media spotlight was taking its toll; he felt drained and that everything was out of his control. It had been so long since he could walk freely out the door without fearing for his life that he had forgotten normality. It was just a word that other people experienced. Outside, he could only experience fear and anxiety. Fear of being caught and anxious of fucking up if he wasn’t.

  “I want to know what they are doing,” he said, “I can’t help but feel it’s linked to something… something bigger.”

  Alex’s eyes were alight with a furious flame of fearlessness.

  “We’re going to kill these fucking bastards,” he said, slamming his pint on the table before gurgling down the last fifth.

  “Maybe in the morning?” Jack yawned.

  “Aye,” Alex smiled, “In the morning.”

  They both got up at the same time. Alex left his empty glass on the bar.

  “Where is Sam?” he asked, this time with a little more concern.

  “He keeps his records down in the basement with the barrels, I’ll go down and check on him,” Jack said, pushing through the door to the back.

  Dated wallpaper surrounding him, Jack saw that the cellar door wide open. The little lantern below gleamed.

  Slowly, he crept down the steps; the lack of any sound beneath him was unsettling. The lantern light danced on the cavernous walls. The barrels, stacked neatly on the wall, were encrusted with aging ale stains. Cold brick enclosed them. Shadows leapt from the vignette of his sight.

  As he reached the bottom step, he saw a puddle of dark liquid, accompanied with the sound of trickling.

  “Sam?” Jack yelled, “One of your barrels is leaking!”

  To his left he there was a tap gushing with some foul smelling ale. Jack reached over and turned it off. The dial squeaked as the beer slowed to a steady drip.

  “Sam?” he yelled again, “Are you down here?”

  The little lantern flickered as gush of air rushed past him. It was sat on the edge of a cardboard box. Its sphere of light curved round the edge of the box, the darkness residing beneath, pulsating a terrible scene.

  A hand protruded from the shadows. A figure emerged from it, still and lifeless.

  “Sam?” Jack dropped to his knees, placing his hands on the body, which were instantly damp. They smelled of a mixture of hops and iron. He shook the body frantically, but it would not wake.

  “Alex!” Jack cried, spinning round, but then - slam.

  His face collided with fist and he was thrown backward; his head narrowly missing the hard cobbled floor and instead smashing into Sam’s shin. Above him, the figure stood, brandishing a bloodied knife.

  Grasping to either side of him, Jack scrambled to his feet. The knife was held, threateningly, but Jack looked back at it with a quiet confidence. It was another one of his famous assumptions, but if his assailant was going to use the weapon, he would have done it by now.

  Nursing the back of his head, he negotiated his way around Sam’s body.

  “You killed him?” he gestured to his feet. “Why?”

  His question was answered to his right hand side. Several bottles were lined up next to the barrel that had he’d closed and Jack realised that it never had been leaking.

  “Oh I see?” he smirked, “Fancied a few pints but didn’t want to pay for them?”

  “I didn’t want this to happen,” the figure muttered, “He just came down, I didn’t plan it.”

  Jack nodded, almost mockingly, “Oh I understand. How dare the landlord disturb you when you're stealing from him?”

  His face was obscured by shadow, he knew that much. The man stepped backwards and was instantly illuminated in amber. Weak shoulders, stubble spiking from his chin and greasy hair dribbling sparingly over his scalp: the knife shook in the man’s hand. Jack doubted the man’s nerves. The twelve bottles of stolen beer told quite another story.

  “You’ve made a huge mistake,” Jack said, “And I don’t just mean because you killed my friend.”

  “Who’s the one with the knife?” the man jabbed the air with it.

  Smirking as he stepped
out of the shadow, “Perhaps now you’ll understand.”

  The knife dropped to the ground with a clatter.

  “It’s… it’s… you.”

  Jack advanced and threw a punch directly into the man’s left eye. He toppled backward to the ground and smashed his head on the bottom step.

  At that moment, Alex raced down.

  “A little late,” Jack said, bending down and checking the man’s pulse. It was weak, but present.

  “What the fuck happened?” Alex took in the scene.

  “Sam’s dead,” Jack said, “At least I think he is.”

  He hadn’t the time to check, from the pool of blood around him, his hopes were low.

  “Fucking hell,” Alex said, kicking over the man’s limp body. “Who is he?”

  “Just a thief. I think Sam caught him trying to steal the beer,” Jack found himself hauntingly detached from the situation.

  “And you just decked him?” Alex looked from unconscious body to corpse to Jack.

  “Well he hit me at first,” he said, “And then I showed him my face and that seemed to scare the shit out of him.”

  Alex grinned, “That’s fucking fantastic. Oh that’s actually hilarious.”

  The two caught each other’s eyes and burst into laughter. A dead body and an unconscious murderer between them, and they laughed until their stomachs ached. Jack Blackwood: the monster who scares murderers. It was sick, Jack knew it. But it was beyond a level that even he could appreciate.

  “So what do we do with him?” Alex straightened up, “Make it look like a murder-suicide?”

  Jack shook his head, “He killed Sam. I liked Sam. He was incurably kind. This man might deserve death, but I’m fucking damned if I’m going to give it to him.”

  “So what, we just leave him here?”

  “No,” Jack said, “Get one of the chairs from upstairs.”

  Fifteen minutes later they had hoisted Sam’s murderer into one of the bar chairs and tied his arms around the back, his ankles to the legs. Jack had grabbed a piece of paper from the bar and had scribbled a note.

  “For when they find him,” he said, placing the piece of paper at the man’s feet.

  Caught you a murderer and thought you guys needed the Kudos more than I did - Steven Lennox.