by G R Jordan
“Sure, governor. Not a moment too long up there, I gotcha. Where is it?”
Graham gave the directions to follow and the delivery man strolled calmly away, holding the large box under his arm. Good, thought Havers, I’ll get to see him alone. This disguise is pretty effective.
Havers could hear Austerley’s snoring from outside the door. In fairness, he had heard him a corridor away but hadn’t realized who it was. The room he entered looked neat and tidy. Austerley was lying on the bed under a duvet. Shutting the door gently behind him, Havers got out a torch and opened one of Austerley’s eyelids. He tapped Austerley’s forearm and slapped his face gently. Dammit, he thought, they must have given him enough to knock out a rhino.
There was a noise in the corridor. Havers broke open the box and took out a jaunty balloon which had emblazoned on it “Make sure to get a good footing”. He was crouching down to fix the balloon to its stand when the door opened and a young woman dressed in scrubs entered.
“Is everything alright? Graham said you would be here. I just wanted to make sure Mr Austerley wasn’t disturbing you,” said the woman.
“Oh, no, not a word from him. Plenty of snoring, mind.”
“It’s a bit sick that, really.”
“The balloon? It’s a personal message so maybe he’s a bit sick too. You see all sorts doing this.”
“I suppose. Is that you finished? Doesn’t look like much to it.”
“Yes, that’s me. Just going to grab my things.” Havers spotted a book on the table beside Austerley’s bed. The same one he had handed to Kirkgordon that morning. Now, he thought, that can’t be lying around for all sorts to read. Careless, guys, careless. He picked up his box and turned around, shielding the book behind him. “Time to go, I guess.” As he spoke, Havers’ free hand picked the book off the table and held it to his back as he walked away. “You first, ma’am.” As the young woman exited he brought the book round quickly and dropped it into his box.
Havers felt the woman’s eyes on his back all the way down the corridor and was careful to stay in character. “Thanks for your time, mate,” he said to Graham as he reached the front desk. “Cracking body on that nurse of yours.” Graham nodded and Havers walked out of the building with his contraband.
Havers sat in the van and tried to visualize the scene he had been in. Something was up and he didn’t believe Austerley’s sedation was above board. Water jug, glass, all looked okay. Suitcase, yes, normal. The book being left out in the open wasn’t so normal. Certainly not from Austerley. He would have understood the danger of what it contained. Kirkgordon? Maybe the error was his. Everything else looked fine, nothing out of place. Except… what was that small object close to the bed? His brain had registered it ever so briefly but there was definitely something unusual there. Closing his eyes, he drew the memory out of his mind. Small, it was small. A token perhaps? No. Slightly bigger. Green, definitely green. Emerald, there was an emerald. And diamonds. A brooch. That was it, a brooch. Better sketch it for the boys back at HQ.
Next stop was Mr Kirkgordon. Perhaps it was time to enlighten him about Wilson. Hopefully the priest had been of use to him. The trouble with Father Jonah was that he took some convincing. A good man, no doubt, but not always one to toe the line in service of the country. Or of those who protect it, at least.
The results from the lookout point were troubling Havers. The amount of background spiritual energy was alarming. Usually with results like that one would expect “disturbances”, things the general public would have spotted. Nothing too outlandish, but certainly reportable. But he had checked with the police and there had been nothing unusual, nothing.
Havers tapped his ear and once HQ had checked in with the codes he asked them to find a local historian for him. The name came back. A Miss Jane Goodritch, working at the local arts centre. Havers decided that he would visit her after checking on Kirkgordon. He pulled up to the side of the road five hundred yards from Kirkgordon’s guest house.
Checking the street as he approached the house, Havers noticed he was being watched from a red hatchback just opposite the guest house. Inside was a black-haired woman and a balding man who, on seeing him, began to kiss. Pretty amateurish, thought Havers. They are far too close to the building. I’d sack my people for a tail like that. As Havers reached the door, it opened, forcing him to take a step back. A rotund lady stepped out of the house.
“I’m sorry there’s no answer from his door, Miss Goodritch, but I shall certainly tell him you called,” said an older lady standing in the doorway.
“Miss Goodritch?” enquired Havers. “Miss Jane Goodritch?”
The rotund lady was taken aback. “Yes. Who’s asking?”
“Allow me to introduce myself, ma’am. Major Havers. Arthur Lewis Siddlington-Havers, at your service.”
“Very good, sir, and congratulations on such an impressive name, but why are you asking for me?”
“Dear lady, I think we have come to see the same person. Mr Kirkgordon.”
“Kirk? You mean Mr Gordon. His first name’s Kirk.”
“As you wish. Is he well?”
“He’s in his room asleep,” said the landlady. “I was telling Miss Goodritch that he hasn’t moved since he came in today. Sorry, but you’ll have to come back.”
“Ladies, forgive me, but kindly step back inside the building.”
“Why should we?” asked Miss Goodritch.
“Because my gun says so. It has a silencer and I am capable of delivering the necessary blow if required but I’d be happier if you just got inside quickly. Before they really take an interest in you.”
The women were startled but, as Havers had gambled, self-preservation made them step back inside. Shutting the door behind him, Havers looked at the trembling women and the gun barrel he was pointing at them.
“Apologies, but we needed to be inside. This building is being watched. Those people in the red hatchback across the road. And I have need of some answers which I might not want them to hear.” Havers extended a hand. “My name is Major Havers. I work for Her Majesty and I need to see my employee, Mr Kirkgordon. I realize you are a little in shock but your co-operation is appreciated. Oh, my gun. Here, you hold it, Miss Goodritch.”
Havers handed the gun to Miss Goodritch who immediately pointed it at Havers’ head. “Now sir, tell me who you are.” Havers laughed.
“Handing over of a loaded gun to the general public is not standard practice, Miss Goodritch. And I never break standard practice.” Havers whipped the gun from her hand and pointed it at his head before pulling the trigger six times. “I am your friend, possibly your protector, so please co-operate. I’d call the police to verify this for you but I really don’t want to bring the squad cars with their lights here. So please, will you take me to Mr Kirkgordon?”
The ladies were still nervous but the landlady led the way to Kirkgordon’s room.
Havers knocked on the door hard and called out Kirkgordon’s name. He tried three more times, then said to the landlady, “My apologies, but I need to enter,” and kicked the door through at the handle. It swung open and a fusty smell hit his nose. “I think my man was out last night.” Havers examined Kirkgordon’s hands and noticed a red rash on the back of one of them. Opening the eyelids, he checked the eyes and then placed his head close to Kirkgordon’s chest to monitor his breathing.
“Ladies, Mr Kirkgordon is not asleep. He is in fact being held in stasis. Which means someone will come for him. I don’t know who – perhaps the people in the car. This puts you in great danger and so I am going to take both of you to the local police station. We are also taking Mr Kirkgordon with us, but not through the front door. You’ll have to trust me on this. If you find that difficult I can load up my gun again and be more persuasive. Trust me, you are in great danger.”
The ladies stared in disbelief but Havers didn’t wait for questions. Instead he touched his ear and ran quickly through HQ’s password routine. Breaking his conversation, h
e asked the landlady for the name of the street behind the guest house. After she had answered, he repeated the information before confirming “five minutes”.
“Right, ladies. We are going to leave via the rear entrance. Madam, if you would lock up the house. Don’t be seen at any windows. Miss Goodritch, you will need to open the doors for me.”
The ladies nodded, both slightly pale with shock. Havers took Kirkgordon and threw him over his shoulder. The fugitives exited through the rear door of the property and negotiated a small wooden fence before stepping out into the street. A red transit pulled up and the driver’s window rolled down. Before the driver, a young fair-haired man, could say anything, Havers spoke.
“Visionary! Yes, you heard me, Visionary. Yes, I know, you never thought you’d hear that codeword. But this is for real, so look lively, gentlemen. Now, assist these ladies into the back and then straight to your station. You stop for no one.”
The driver gulped but gave an affirmative nod before jumping out and opening the rear of the van. After seeing his passengers aboard, he returned to the driver’s seat and sped off. Meanwhile, the two people in the red hatchback continued to stare at the front door of the guest house. They were unaware of the local street camera now turning its attention to them. Neither were they aware that their names and addresses were being displayed on Havers’ mobile phone.
His operation had been compromised. Supernatural indicators were off the scale. And one of his people was dead. Inside the cool and calm exterior, a rage was building, a hunger for revenge. Relax, Arthur, he told himself, relax. Time for a chat with Miss Goodritch.
Observations
The lab boys back at HQ had been very helpful. There was more to Kirkgordon’s incapacitation than Havers had first thought. The dosage, of a compound he hadn’t even heard of, was so large that Kirkgordon was going to be out until at least tomorrow. Clearly there was some motive in taking him out for so long but what, exactly? Havers couldn’t make sense of it. Wilson had probably seen something. So they killed him. Well, that was the assumption. But Kirkgordon had merely been drugged and watched, suggesting a future need of some sort. But what need?
Havers had given thought to removing Austerley from the care home, but the policemen who visited on a bogus call confirmed Austerley was there and peaceful, if not conscious. Anyway, extracting Austerley would arouse suspicion, and the perpetrators would probably go underground with their secret. He needed to understand, to build a picture. He was convinced Wilson must have been on to something. Hopefully Miss Goodritch would yield some help.
Havers entered the police interview room and crossed the floor to shake hands with Jane Goodritch. Her face looked a little worn with worry but otherwise she seemed in good health, maintaining the rounded smile which matched her plump disposition.
“Sorry to have to be in here. I’d rather sit in a café somewhere and have a more pleasant chat, Miss Goodritch,” said Havers.
“Jane, call me Jane. I understand this is important. The constable, when I asked him, said it wasn’t that he wouldn’t tell me who you were but that he couldn’t. So you must be of some importance.” Jane folded her arms nervously.
“My work is important, Jane, not me. I’m a servant to this country like us all, I’m afraid. And yes, what is going on at the moment is important and not for discussion outside these walls, if we understand each other.”
“Certainly.” Jane coughed.
Why do I always make people nervous even when I’m being nice? thought Havers. Then he remembered the gun.
“Apologies for holding a gun at you, but your life was in danger. To keep you safe I needed your co-operation, not your gratitude.”
“Thank you. I think.”
“Now, please tell me everything you know about Mr Kirkgordon. It’s his surname, by the way.”
“Right. What’s his first name?”
“That’s probably something he should divulge himself. Anyway, what do you know of our Mr Kirkgordon?”
Jane Goodritch spent the next half hour recounting Kirkgordon’s visit to her arts centre and the history of the town. Focusing intently, Havers made notes on a small pad.
“You say they hung him up on the hill?” asked Havers.
“Yes, the viewing spot, Gibbet Point. Do you know it?” Jane replied.
“Yes, Jane. I was up there this afternoon. Now that is worrying. Are there any elements in the town who take these stories seriously?”
“Well, I take them seriously.”
“Indeed, Jane, indeed you do. As do I. I was meaning, are there any groups who take these matters seriously but with more of an evil intent?”
“Evil intent?”
“Yes, Jane. Evil. Curses and the like and revenge of this sort don’t just happen. Usually, some influence from the earthly world is required to readmit the spirit world. I was wondering if there were any particular people who might be so disposed to try this.”
“To be honest, Major Havers, I don’t know of anything occult or evil, witchcraft or anything like that. We’re just a quiet little town with a bit of history.”
“Much obliged,” said Havers. “I need to get Mr Kirkgordon to someone who can watch over him properly and, as you have been seen in contact with him, I would suggest you accompany me and place yourself under the protection of a colleague. Just for a day or so, until we clear this all up. It’s probably nothing, but best to be safe.”
“Do you really think I’m in danger?”
If the indicators are right we’re all in for it, thought Havers. “Probably nothing,” he said. “Don’t worry too much about it. Just a precaution.”
Time was starting to press and Havers decided that the care home would be his main reconnaissance. But first he would need to organize back-up in case the situation was as he feared. A swift call to HQ put the wheels in motion before Havers exited the police station in an unmarked car with Miss Goodritch up front and a prone Kirkgordon lying across the back seat.
The evening was drawing in as the car pulled into the church car park. Before Havers could open the car door, the priest was already reaching for the handle. He had a worried look on his face.
“You’re here without a disguise. Is it that bad?” asked Father Jonah.
“It may be. Indeed, it may be. But it is good to see an old friend,” replied Havers.
“Old friend?” The priest laughed. “You must want something, Arthur. The f-word never appears unless you want something. But I am magnanimous. God bless you anyway.”
“I do need help. Mr Kirkgordon is in the back of the car and is under the influence of some nasty sedatives. His cure has been administered, but the reaction time means he won’t see anything of this day. Somebody did this to him and I need him protected. The lady in the car—”
“Jane Goodritch.”
“Ah, good, you know her. Well, she’s tangled up in it now too. So just to be safe, keep an eye on her, please.”
“Strangers in distress. I believe I am commanded to help by our dear Lord. By the way, good choice in Mr Kirkgordon.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, he never believes a word you say. Smart man.”
“Unfair,” countered Havers. “Well, I have a bit of watching to do tonight but I’ll drop by for breakfast.”
“Of course, you’ll be most welcome. My daughter does some excellent mussels.”
“Still at that old trick?” Havers chuckled. “Well, Father Jonah, be ready! We may require sanctuary.”
The priest nodded before collecting Miss Goodritch and then carrying Kirkgordon inside with Havers’ help.
Night had fallen by the time Havers had changed into his camouflage outfit. Urban colour and pattern for this job, he had reckoned, and so he wore a mix of blacks and greys. Over the years, he had grown a great disdain for the paint he had to put on his face as his skin reacted ever so slightly to it. More a nuisance than anything else but still annoying. Not that he ever allowed this gem of informatio
n to be passed on.
With the car parked some five hundred metres away, Havers moved silently through the streets and reached a vantage point in the shrubs where the only road in and out of the care home passed by. He settled down for a long wait, listening to the sound of the sea in the distance. It reminded him of his feelings at Gibbet Point so he tried to take his mind elsewhere.
They had said he wasn’t cut out for a life of service in the secret divisions of the military. MI5 had rejected him out of hand. He had pushed himself hard through various training courses, learned how to fight in many different styles and achieved fluency in three languages, but his background was always seen as too risky. It had hardly been his fault that his father had delved into the black arts. Dad, he thought, you always pushed the limits, always wanted that which was out of reach.
The event which would be his father’s downfall turned out to be the making of Havers. It’s not every man in his twenties who takes on a summoned demon and wins. Win: it’s such a short, sweeping word. Yes, I vanquished it. Yes, I sealed it away for good. And yes, I saved a lot of lives that day. But I lost you, Dad. I lost you. There was no choice, no chance to get you back after you had summoned it. And I did it like you taught me – always focused, weighing the needs, getting the job done. I always get the job done.
There were various comings and goings at the care home with many people visiting their relatives or friends on a Sunday night before the busy week ahead. Havers, methodical as always, watched each of them, intently looking for anything out of place. Soon it was time for the home to be locked up. Havers saw Graham the manager waving goodnight to his staff and leaving the place in the care of his night crew.
And there was that girl again, the one who had come into Austerley’s room. He noticed she was watching carefully as Graham left and stood at the door observing for another ten minutes after he had gone. Doors were locked and lights all turned down low.
The next three hours were dull. Absolutely nothing happened. Or, to be exact, as Havers always was, nothing apart from the fox which he saw lurking in the car park for five minutes before it caught a scent and scampered off. And the hedgehog which ambled its way right past him.