Parallel II - The Gift

by Paul Rice

  Mike closed the passenger door as they pulled away and then turned to look at their victim. He lay across the armrest with his eyes closed and hands clenched. Mike turned back to the front, sniffed, and said, “Open the window a bit, will you, that stuff fucking stinks!” Ken obliged and then checked his mirrors, smiling when he saw the BMW three cars behind them. Its high level xenon lights gave him a nice view of where Jane was situated. He slowed to let the other cars pass him and then as soon as Jane overtook the Mercedes, Ken speeded up and tagged onto the back of her.

  Following her blue navigator’s arrow, Jane led them to the remote spot where they were to leave McBride. She stopped short and let the Mercedes go past and onto the grass. Ken parked the Mercedes underneath some trees. Mike jumped out of the Merc and ran across to the Spear, as Jane opened the door he asked her to check the scanner. As soon as she reported the all clear, he turned and went back to give his friend a hand. They opened the rear doors and laid McBride comfortably across the back seat. Anyone passing would assume the well dressed businessman was simply having forty winks after a hard day’s work. They weren’t sure how long he would be unconscious, and even if the area was clear at that moment it didn’t mean someone wouldn’t come around the corner unexpectedly. The Spear was parked at the end of the small track behind them and they hurriedly made their way over to it. Climbing in to their seats, the two men were greeted by Jane’s questions: “How did it go, you were in there pretty quick! I’m almost sure nobody saw you. His driver came out just as I was passing. I saw him looking down the road but I don’t think he saw you?” As she listened to their answers, she turned the Spear around and parked it at an angle where they could watch the McBride’s car in their mirrors. Ken turned in his seat and observed the Mercedes through the rear window. They didn’t have long to wait.

  Within minutes, McBride stumbled out of the car and immediately vomited into the bushes that grew in front of the Mercedes. Standing in the darkness, he wiped his mouth and looked dazedly around at his surroundings. After a few minutes he then proceeded to walk in circles for a while – they could see him talking rapidly, and watched as he seemed to be engaged in a vehement argument with himself. It was bizarre and every now and then he would shake his hands in front of his own face, his actions were that of a very angry and very distraught man. “The guy’s gone fucking nuts, what the hell is in that stuff?” Ken whispered, he felt quite sorry for McBride but fell back on the memory of young Joe and used the thoughts in order to avoid the slight feeling of guilt, which he was starting to have. Mike and Jane sat in silence and watched the screen as it flickered with some incoming data.

  After about ten minutes of this performance, McBride suddenly stopped, stood absolutely still for a few seconds, as if listening to some inner voice, and then turned and climbed into his car. Seconds later he accelerated past the darkened Spear, leaving them with a glimpse of his faintly illuminated features as he headed towards his destiny. Jane followed at a distance, keeping the tail lights of their quarry in sight. Mike traced his progress on the screen and occasionally glanced up at the blue arrow. “He’s heading for the office.” He said as the screen flashed with the destination logo. “Keep following him, according to the briefing he will break off and head into the underground parking. That’s when we lose him?”

  Jane turned and looked at him. “What then?”

  “I have no idea – it just says to wait outside. So I guess that’s what we should do, yeah?” Mike scoured his digital notes, flicking through the screened pages with his finger. “No, that’s it. We just wait outside.” Suddenly he said, “There’s the place – do a left there, by that takeaway!” He pointed to a yellow and red sign that said: ‘Hot & Spicy Takeaway Heaven.’ Jane turned down the narrow street and followed the Navigator’s arrow, her route allowing the rich smell of Eastern spices to ooze into the car as they passed the restaurant. The Target icon had stopped blinking now and all she had to do was to follow the Spears’ directions to the parking place opposite McBride’s office. Pulling over, she turned the lights off and watched the windscreen as Mike switched it over to Scanner mode.

  The interior of the building could be seen in graphic detail. Hot spots stood out brilliantly, three security guards on the ground floor stood leaning against the reception counter with their warm drinks shining brightly on the blue screen. Even the warm water in the building’s central heating system could be seen as it flowed around the rooms. “That really is quite something else, isn’t it?” Jane said as she looked at Mike.

  He grinned at her, the dim blue interior of the cab making his teeth stand out in sharp contrast to his darkened face. “You should have seen us the first time old George told us that we were on a Ship, I nearly shit myself!” He laughed gently.

  Ken joined in. “This whole scenario is mind blowing isn’t it, I mean look at – hold on… McBride’s in his office, look!” He pointed to the screen and they all turned to watch the fatal events as they began to unfold before their eyes.

  For quite a long while McBride strode around the office, bending down and collecting things, then stacking the items on his desk. Fiddling with his computer, its screen flaring with white light on the Spears’ Scanner, then, once he had gathered everything, McBride sat down in front of the computer and began to work on some document or another. With his fingers flashing across the keys, head bent forward and a slight heat haze lifting up from his body, they watched as he furiously tapped away at the keypad. Finally, he sat upright in his chair and began talking again, the outline of his jaw moving rapidly as he spoke to some invisible audience. As there wasn’t anyone else in the room, the onlookers assumed he was still having a rant with himself; the whole thing was bizarre – what was it the man was doing? Watching in fascination, they saw McBride stretch across the desk, pick something up, and then sit back down in his seat again. Reaching up to his face, he paused and, to their utter disbelief, they watched as a sudden, unexpected spray of warm liquid erupted from the back of his head, it flared briefly on the Scanner and they watched in horror as the hot fluid blasted across the wall and furnishings of his office. McBride slumped lifelessly in his chair, his suicidal action in complete contrast to the calm way in which their man had been sitting at his desk for the last twenty minutes.

  “Shit! The stupid idiot has gone and bloody shot himself!” Ken growled as he looked at the other two in surprise. Before they had a chance to say anything else, the scanner blinked unemotionally – all three leaned forward to look. As they stared at its screen, still in shock from the terrible scene they had only just witnessed, they saw two emotionless words appear upon its unblinking blue surface: ‘Mission complete.’ They sat in silence for a while, each wrapped in their own thoughts. Avoiding each other’s eyes, all three allowed themselves to remain motionless whilst the reality of McBride’s act, and their part in it, dawned upon them.

  The true cost of George’s Gift had finally begun to reveal itself.

  Jane ended the sombre moment by leaning forward to push the starter button. “Let’s go home the normal way, I feel like a nice long drive anyway?” Dropping the hand brake, she pulled away from the kerb and accelerated towards the blue motorway sign that lay shining in the distance.

  Chapter 14 - A Problem Shared

  Part Two

  It was the following morning when the Chancellor of the Exchequer received an email from the notorious James McBride. The email was headed: ‘My Problem’ and contained a link that, upon clicking, led the viewer to a website where important businessmen could upload live footage of themselves to be saved and used during international conference calls and the suchlike. Within an hour the Chancellor had all the facts about the deceitful financial trap which James McBride had constructed, there was no question it was genuine, the man himself had sat calmly in front of the web camera and told of what he had done. He explained the papers, the graphs and all the emails that were piled on the opulent desk next to him. He spoke to the camera for fifteen m
inutes, never faltering and very business-like in his manner. Once finished, he said, “In conclusion, I am guilty and I am returning all the missing funds, with interest.” Looking down at his laptop he pushed some buttons, then glanced back up to the camera and gave a set of numbers to the lens. “You will find all the funds in that particular account, only you may access them – a copy of this link has been sent to Inspector Gregory at Scotland Yard.” He paused, took a single deep breath and then said, “This is no longer my problem.” Without faltering, he leant forward, past the lens, and then returned with a pistol in his hand. He nodded once at his electronic audience, placed the muzzle of the weapon in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

  The only things the Police found in his office were the nearly headless body of the former James McBride, which lay slumped in the chair alongside his laptop, and a stack of papers. The top sheaf of the pile was liberally spattered with some indescribable liquid, as were several of the walls, the water machine and also a large portion of the carpet. There was not one single trace of any other person and the front desk had no video evidence of anyone, other than him, entering or leaving the building. The only anomalies were two small patches of static on the security video, no big deal; just a couple of fuzzy green lines blurring the screen were all they saw. McBride’s Mercedes was parked in the basement garage and it, too, was void of anything unusual. Their conclusions were unanimous: he was obviously overcome by guilt and had taken the only honourable way out – the lead detective felt no remorse at having such an easy case to wrap up.

  Within five weeks, Joseph Johnson, a beautiful, pale faced boy, was rushed to hospital. A donor had been found and with the snap of a finger, someone else’s tragedy had been turned into hope for Joe and his troubled parents. The charity had contacted them – all the finances were in place and they could proceed at once. The waiting list for heart and lung transplants on the NHS would have seen tiny Joseph dead and buried long before he reached the top of the queue.

  His parents were filled with a terrible mixture of emotions: joy at the news, and dread at the thought of the huge hurdle their two year old would have to face. They clung to each other in the back of the swaying ambulance. Joseph’s mother held his hand tightly; she would never let him go, never. However, their fears were unfounded and Joseph flew through the operation, within days he was trying to get out of bed. His recovery accelerated way past what was expected, and he suffered very little rejection whatsoever to the transplant he had received. He also became a firm favourite with the nurses and his clear eyed honesty was astonishing. The child seemed to look at everything in a completely different way to everyone else. On the day Joseph finally left the hospital, the Chief Surgeon, who had come to say goodbye, was standing on the steps above the family as they loaded young Master Joe into the car.

  Turning to his PA the surgeon said: “That child is something else isn’t he, Carol? Quite something else – thank God we had the privilege of saving him!” Taking one last look at the auburn headed child, he smiled and raised his hand. Joseph nodded once, his clear grey eyes met the surgeons gaze and with the calmest of looks, he raised a small pink hand in solemn return salute.

  Chapter 15 - Goodbye Mister Peters

  Part One

  It was on the news the next morning. As they sat and had endless cups of hot tea – none of them were quite up for breakfast – the TV in the kitchen blurting out its headlines about the demise of the infamous James McBride.

  ‘Notorious banker commits suicide, millions in hidden funds returned. Charities rejoice!’

  The Newspaper headlines were being discussed by the morning guest panel. Pictures of McBride from his prior courthouse appearance were rolled again, his white teeth gleaming as he smiled for the cameras outside the courthouse.

  Mike stood, picked up the remote and hit the ‘Off’ button. The TV darkened with a slight hiss of static. “I dunno about you, but I don’t really want to watch too much more of that?” He sat back down heavily and lifted his mug from the table. He looked at his friends for a moment, before finding something else of imaginary interest that steered his gaze away. Ken had seen Mike like this before and guessed it was just the way his friend was dealing with his inner conflicts. He wasn’t too keen about what McBride had done to himself, either. But there wasn’t a lot they could do about it.

  Mike looked tired and Ken sympathised, it had been gone five in the morning when they had finally rolled onto the drive at the Lodge. Jane had driven most of the way until Ken had finally persuaded her to relinquish the controls. “I just hope the kid gets his transplant, at least then there will have been some sense all to this?” With that thought, he rose and made his way across to the cupboard. “Right, I’m having some toast, it’s no use us sitting here and feeling sorry for ourselves. Things move on and we knew what we were getting into. Anybody else want a slice or two?” He delved into the bread bin and then popped a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster. Jane and Mike looked at him and then agreed. “That’s better folks,” he said, “Lets get another brew and a wedge of toast down our necks shall we, then we’ll all feel a lot better? Trust me, I’m a Doctor…” He winked at them and they couldn’t help but smile.

  Jane agreed. “Yeah, you’re right, I really didn’t expect him to do that you know? I’m just glad that we only saw the outline, I wouldn’t have wanted to actually be there…” Ken made a mental promise to himself, and he would try his damnedest to ensure that she wasn’t around if it did come down to any proper blood letting. Hearing the toast popping up, he reached for the butter and some plates. Mike stayed quiet, but even so he still managed to chomp his way through several rounds of the crusty farmhouse toast. Ken kept re-supplying the table until they were done. After their impromptu breakfast they sat with a fresh drink and mulled over the events of the previous day.

  “I guess we can get out of this anytime we want?” Mike said, as he finally broke his self-imposed silence. “Sorry I’ve been a bit moody but, well, you know?”

  “Yeah we do, Mike. It’s cool, this ain’t easy for anyone, but we made the decision, so I vote that we stick with it for a while. After all, we are supposed to be doing some good, aren’t we?” Ken said, as he looked at them. “Listen, we just have to stay focused here, its bad shit I know, but let’s just get on with it, maybe there’ll just be a couple of these jobs and then it will all be over?” He didn’t really think they could turn back now anyway, it was just something within him, a feeling of absolute calmness that pulled on his mind. They had to see this through, he knew that with certainty. “Without wanting to make things worse, just remember that it was George, via Mike, who told us that we may well have to kill people. All three of us had that talk and all of us agreed, didn’t we? What I’m saying is: McBride wasn’t really a kill, as such. You know, we may well have to actually top someone, face to face?” He rose from the table and stood above them. “Just think about it OK, it’s what we signed up for here so…” he finished there, letting the unspoken words have their own say.

  The blue’s soon passed, however. Ken made them check the equipment and then pack everything in its correct place. The activity helped them refocus and soon they were back on a more even keel. Mike powered up the Communicator in the hope there would be some information waiting for them. The screen illuminated as normal, but there was no sign of George and no messages waiting for them, either. So, with nothing better to do, they decided upon a quick walk and so took to the hills for an hour. It was a wise choice as the fresh air soon whisked the lead from their steps and quickly cleansed their clouded minds. An hour later they were back down at the Lodge and helping Ken get the firewood ready.

  As he watched Jane and Mike larking about with the dogs, he smiled to himself in relief, but also somewhat remorsefully, too. “I wish I didn’t have this Devil in me, I wish I could just tell George to piss-off, then walk away and never look back. But I can’t, I like this stuff!” He split the last log with an accurate blow, straightened t
o his feet, and gave the other two a shout: “Right, that’s about enough wood to start a fire for a week. I vote we chill out for the rest of the day, what do you think – I’m bloody knackered after last night?” Grabbing an armful of logs, he headed into the house with the other two close behind. They didn’t get the chance for too long a rest.

  It was at about eight o’clock that evening when the communicator’s light started flashing again, its greenness radiating into the lounge where the trio were laying, sprawled across the large couches. Mike was on the long three-seater, shoes off and apparently dead to the world. Ken and Jane were top ‘n tailed on the four-seater. She was also half asleep whilst Ken, who was more than wide-awake, lay staring at the ceiling with the drone of the TV a distant hum in the back of his mind. He could feel the Dragon within, it had been awoken and the fire it breathed illuminated that terrible corner of Ken’s mind, which raced with the thought of their next task. He hoped it would be that prick, Peters…

  As the green light hit the walls of their warm room, he sat up, slid his legs over Jane’s and swivelled until he could put his feet on the floor. Ken rose slowly, so as not to disturb her, and then reached over to Mike. Shaking him, he whispered: “Mike, something’s happening with your gizmo, it’s flashing again?”

  Mike opened his eyes and then rubbed both hands across his face, before sitting up and yawning. “Yep, I saw it – I was hoping it was just my imagination.” He stood up and made his way into the kitchen.

  Ken turned to see if Jane was awake, smiling when he saw she was already on her feet. “What is it, what’s happening – is there some news?” She said and then yawned loudly. He grinned at her and nodded towards the kitchen. She rubbed her eyes and followed him to where Mike was waiting at the table with his machine in full flow.