by G R Jordan
“I got her out for you. Is she okay?” asked Calandra.
It then dawned on Kirkgordon his first check had been to his friend, his colleague, his temptation. With a guilty heart he quickly moved to Alana but with no feeling in his arms, he was unable to hold her. Instead he crouched over her, seeking some sign of life in her face. This was the mother of his two children, the first real love of his life, and she was barely breathing, her visage as pale as death.
She coughed. Water spurted out in spits and spats and her eyes flicked open. Alana screamed. And then she continued to scream, wild blasphemies coming from her mouth. He couldn’t hold her, couldn’t comfort her; he felt like a failure. And maybe he was. Was this a rescue? Was this a life recovered?
Hearing someone splashing through the water beside him, Kirkgordon turned and saw Austerley dragging himself across to Alana. As the professor reached her, he placed a hand on her head and uttered some of his unintelligible words. The screaming stopped. There were several splashes and Kilon stood beside them.
“I’ll look after her, Professor. You and the Archer need to be helped yourselves.”
Kirkgordon turned away but someone touched his leg. It was Austerley.
“You had her. You didn’t have to come for me.”
“No, I didn’t,” Kirkgordon replied. “But I had to go for her.” He looked over at Calandra, who was beginning to sit up. They were all alive and yet he felt numb. Alana had begged him to leave and instead he had knocked her out and gone back for Cally. He felt bad that he had no remorse, no second thoughts. But for all that he loved his wife, he couldn’t have abandoned Cally. Maybe only God knew how to choose between two loves. “Thanks, Indy. You’re a decent freak, really. I guess a lot of us don’t understand everything about you. Except Alana. I guess she does now.”
“I’ll help her. She’s not gone. Just broken.”
“Indy, we’re all bloody broken.”
Kirkgordon walked a little distance away and stood looking into the dark barren landscape around him. How was this a victory? How was this a success? Dagon had been stopped but he had lost his wife to Dagon, at least her mind. What do I tell the kids?
An arm wrapped around his waist and he looked down into the eyes of his youngest colleague. Nefol was staring into his eyes, searching his pain.
“She’ll be alright. Austerley will fix her. We rescued her.”
“Maybe. But she’s far from saved.” Kirkgordon saw Nefol’s face fall. The kid had been through so much, she didn’t deserve this self-pitying wallowing he was offering. “But as for you… Your father would have been so proud. Thank you. You helped us all get through.”
“Not Havers. Havers didn’t make it.”
Typical teenager, thought Kirkgordon, always correcting. “I still find it hard to believe. I’d have put money on him being the only one walking back through that portal. Anyway, I’m not sure surviving is all it’s cracked up to be.”
The Boss
Kirkgordon was happy to be back in Scotland. Even though this was a highland estate that he didn’t know and both Austerley and himself had spent nearly an hour blindfolded in the helicopter, it was good to smell the trees after a rainfall. The Nether world had been so strange with its dust and decay, its strange creatures and the overall sense of doom inside the temple. Good, clean Scottish air was a welcome relief.
He wasn’t sure why the company had sent them here. Realistically he could have stayed in hospital for a few more days; he had been enjoying the rest. Four months of recovery was a long time and he had feared for his arms at one point. But recovered he had, although with a few “enhancements”, as Wilson, who had replaced Havers to become his new boss, had put it.
It was the faint whirr that gave it away. From the outside his right hand looked like anyone else’s, but when it moved he swore he could hear it whirring like a machine. The doctor said it was imagined. He was wrong. The damn thing whirred. It had taken a while to get used to and he had crushed a number of glasses en route to his current finesse. But it was good. It worked. Not everyone had been so fortunate.
Alana was still in the psychiatric ward. She constantly felt the darkness coming for her, looking for her. Dagon had gotten into her head and nothing so far had moved him out. One moment she was fine and the next a quivering wreck. She had seen what Austerley had seen, and no sane person could come out of that experience intact. Alana had lost her passion for life, her confidence and her stability. The children were great, Alana’s sister was looking after them, but they felt part of Mum was missing. And they were right.
Wilson had been terrific, organizing everything, making sure all the loose ends were tied up. He sent out feelers to places Kirkgordon didn’t even know about to try and find out what had happened to Farthington and Havers, but to no avail. They must have died in the temple, but they had never been seen after they fell. Surely someone down below would have clocked them falling into the rift?
Austerley had closed the portal in Russia. It had been a sad farewell for him. Kilon had helped them with patching wounds and had probably saved Kirkgordon’s arms. The hand had been too far gone though, its nerves destroyed by the cold. Kilon was a bizarre-looking creature but he had proved his worth. Austerley had hugged him before leaving, in the only genuine sign of affection from Austerley that Kirkgordon had ever seen. Almost moving. Bogey did not participate in the hugging.
From the outset, Calandra had avoided him. Every time she saw his arms she looked away, found an excuse to be elsewhere. Several times she had apologized to Alana but the two women struggled to make up. Alana blamed Calandra and Austerley for what had happened to herself and her husband. Austerley’s self-sacrifice had allowed him to avoid the evil eye but for Calandra there was no remorse. It broke Kirkgordon to see the two of them fighting like that.
“Where did you go the other day?”
Kirkgordon flinched as he realized he had been in a different place. He turned to the professor. “Had a guest come to visit. We took a walk.”
“A guest?” Austerley chewed the word like a piece of gristle. “Since when has she been a guest? Not even a friend?”
Kirkgordon turned away again. “It wasn’t much of a party.” He heard Austerley grunt. Good, that’s him off the scent. Best he doesn’t know. Of course she’s more than a guest, but then, she’s more than a friend.
When he had met Calandra in London, her hair had been combed long and immaculate, bouncing easily as she turned her head. Long boots ran into bare thighs and some denim shorts. The tight crop top and leather jacket looked like they were part of her. Walking along the Thames, they had barely spoken. He knew she was moving within the department, on to a different side of the work. It was unlikely that they would meet again. For the best, all for the best.
And that should have been it. A handshake and a terse goodbye, colleagues separating until work required them again. But when their hands had met it was with the other’s hips. Mouths embraced, a flood that had been held back for so long. And it didn’t stop. For ten minutes they had embraced and enjoyed each other. And then she walked away. She couldn’t cry; her tears froze as always. But Kirkgordon could, and he had.
“You were too close to work together.” Austerley’s comment went unanswered.
The other difficult issue had been Nefol. She had wanted to stay with Calandra, but Calandra needed to get away from everything, start again. Her only option was to ditch the hurt and become the Ice Maiden again. It would never work, having a child in tow. So Wilson had come to the rescue again. His friend Miss Goodritch would be good for Nefol. And she was always welcome to visit the boys. In some ways, Nefol had shown the best reaction, thought Kirkgordon. You could see her father in her.
“Is there nowhere here to get a cuppa?” demanded Austerley. Turning around to the little house that was situated at the bottom of the hill, he strode down. The new foot seemed to be working well for him and so far it hadn’t attracted any enemies.
Austerley wa
s now part of a secret institute where he could live and research under Wilson’s careful eye. Austerley was fed and had various research minions who marvelled at his knowledge and didn’t call him an arse and an unwitting destroyer of the world. He has me for that, thought Kirkgordon.
Slowly he followed Austerley along the path to the house made of stone. There was no movement around it but a large Land Rover sat in the driveway. The back door was open and Kirkgordon found Austerley inside the small kitchen shouting for the staff. Whoever manned this place kept it simple. There was an Aga at the rear wall which Austerley was standing in front of, toasting his behind. Atop the old stove was a kettle which was close to boiling, judging from the steam emerging from the spout.
“Ah,” said Austerley, “at last, the staff.” An older woman in a headscarf had wandered in through the wooden door and pushed her glasses firmly onto her nose on hearing the word staff. She almost barged Austerley aside, despite her smaller frame, and pulled down some tea from a nearby shelf. She wore a plaid skirt with a green body warmer and black gloves.
“Austerley, I think maybe we should make the tea.”
“Don’t see the point when the staff are here. Probably gives this old biddy something to do during her day. Great to see the elderly being put to use, if I’m honest. Lots are just lolling about…”
“Austerley, I think we should make the tea.”
“Why? She’s making the damn tea!”
“I know, and maybe we should make the tea.”
“What’s the big deal? She’s making…”
“Yes,” said the lady, “I am making the tea. If I want to make the tea then I shall make the tea. I think I have a right to, don’t you think so, gentlemen?”
“Absolutely, love, you go right on ahead there and do it, don’t listen to him,” said Austerley.
“Yes Ma’am. Of course, Ma’am,” said Kirkgordon.
“Ma’am?” said Austerley, “Bloody Ma’am? She’s not the damn Que—.”
“Good evening, gentlemen. Now, if you would kindly sit down, maybe we can have some tea?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Austerley pointed at the woman and mouthed The Queen? at Kirkgordon. He nodded. Austerley swore.
“No requirement for the ‘F-word’, Mr Austerley. Now sit down.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Apologies. I didn’t know.”
“Indeed. A most unfamiliar face I have. How could you know?”
Austerley sat bolt upright on his seat, staring straight ahead. Kirkgordon was waiting for him to look his way again so that he could laugh.
“Really, Mr Kirkgordon, cut that puerile nonsense out. I thank you for your efforts in the recent foray overseas, so to speak, but I have become aware of a threat closer to home and I require that you both do your duty for this country and, indeed, our world.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” said Kirkgordon.
“Yes, your holiness… highness, damn.”
“Fortunately, I don’t require a diplomat, Mr Austerley. I require someone who knows what goes bump in the night and how to deal with it. I take it you still understand these things, Mr Austerley?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Good. Because, gentlemen, I think your boat has finally come in. Literally. It’s time for you to take a cruise.”
“Where, Ma’am?”
“The Bermuda Triangle, Mr Austerley. Have you heard of it?”
“Oh, yes! But I didn’t like the Barry Manilow song.”
THE END
Bonus: Prologue Book 4 Ship of Doom
The bar wasn’t particularly full but it was cast in shadow from the torches that burned on the wall. He didn’t like the contact opposite him, having never worked for him before. Contacts that came via zombies were never good. The zombies never remembered the details about the contact, hadn’t a clue what they looked like and invariably the meeting had only come to fruition because the contact had stuffed a piece of parchment with the detail into the zombie’s top. Oh yeah, and they were always trying to size up your brain.
But business was business, and when you were struggling to make a living on the “far side”, as it was known, you didn’t turn away a potential money-making job.
The job in question had involved checking many different hospitals, or rather, “places of rest and recovery”, as they were often called. Most of these places didn’t advertise their services and didn’t take enquiries kindly, so he had had to be discreet. Even then he had almost lost one of his antennae.
The contact opposite was immaculately dressed in an outfit he hadn’t seen before. Long pieces of material covered what he thought were legs. The material was grey and black, striped vertically. His torso was covered by a jacket within a jacket with some white material beneath and a black piece shaped like a long triangle. There was black leather on his feet and a black oddly shaped helmet. He also carried a long pointed device which he had been told could expand.
Having watched the contact for a day, he now felt safe enough to part with his information and had delivered a note to the zombie, which had obviously reached the correct source. And now he approached this contact, his first human.
“Did you find what I was looking for?” The contact’s voice was strange and he never clicked once during his speech.
“Yes… click… I have… click… found him.”
“And you’re sure it’s him?”
“Yes… click… the eyepatch, the… click… scarring of the face.”
“Good. Were you followed?”
“No… click… I made… click… sure.”
“Actually, you were followed. Easy, it’s okay, in fact I intended that to happen. When they corner you and try to find out what you’ve been up to and for who, you may tell them without fear of reprisal. Please advise them of my name.”
“But I… click… don’t know your… click… name.”
“Of course. My apologies. It’s Havers. Tell him Major Havers is looking for him.”
IV
Austerley & Kirkgordon Origins 1
Footsteps
Prologue
“I swear if I see Austerley again, I’ll kill him myself. The man’s a lunatic, and he needs to be put down for the good of society.”
The cop waved his open hands, gesturing for the patient to calm down. Before entering the room, the cop had been warned not to excite the man or lead him onto strange or unusual subjects. When he had asked what sort of a request that was meant to be, he had been told that the man was delusional and constantly on his nerves.
Oh well, the officer had thought to himself. I better try and get some sort of statement.
The man in question, known only as Churchy due to a conversation overheard by the driver that had spotted him on the road, was settling back in his pillow. The doctor had said his back looked like it had been ripped open by claws or incredibly long, sharp nails. His face bore several long scars, and his left elbow and right ankle were broken. Yet he had been seen carrying another man, Indy, on his shoulders before collapsing at the side of the Gainsville Pike, not far from Big Cypress Swamp.
The other man was unconscious when the ambulance had arrived to collect them but was starting to come round. The cop deduced this from the screams and shouts he had heard in the corridor, in the main referring to a “Mr. Warren”. It was now nearly 4am, and the coffee machine had broken. It would be a long night, possibly morning.
“Okay sir, I understand you are somewhat disturbed by what’s going on, and given the injuries you have received I guess that’s to be expected. But I need to work out what’s happening and hopefully even contact your family. So we are going to go through this from the top. Right back to the start and just tell me everything, as you saw it or heard it. Is that okay, Mr.?”
“Kirkgordon. Mr. Kirkgordon.”
“Are you, Churchy?”
“That’s what that lunatic calls me. But it’s just Kirkgordon.” The man looked straight ahead, eyes fixed on the centre of the wall.
/>
“Sir, what are you doing?”
“Remembering officer, just remembering.”
“Okay, and it’s Gordon. Mr. Kirk Gordon?”
“No, just Kirkgordon.”
“And your first name?” But the man was gone, his mind drifting back into the past few weeks. So the cop grabbed his pencil, flicked open his notebook, and listened. And then wrote. And wondered and also hoped that this was all just a druggie’s nightmare.
Meeting the Professor
“It was two months ago when Simmons got me the contact. I used to be a bodyguard, close quarter protection for businessmen and various others of note. Went all over the world actually. It’s not the best job if you have a wife and kids, but it did pay well, and I certainly enjoyed it. Moreover, I was damn good at it. But the family thing got to me, and I reckoned I needed some more time at home.
“Alana did too. That’s my wife. She would get at me about coming home, and to be honest, I think she was a little jealous of the high life I looked after. Understand, I didn’t live that high life. I just looked after others who lived the high life, and doing so paid me well. But she’s a jealous one in some ways. She used to get annoyed at seeing the women on the arm of my clients. In fact, I think she thought I was in some way playing around with them. Don’t get me wrong, women have always turned my head, none more than Alana. But I’ve never been unfaithful. But that doesn’t count for much when you are halfway around the world with the competition. At least that’s where I reckoned she was coming from.
“So, I came back, and for a while, things were good but work was scarce. We were living on not a lot. And to be truthful, I was bored in some ways. I mean how dumb can a guy be. Gorgeous wife, and at a point where she’s really happy to see you, I mean all over each other happy. Two great kids to be with. Decent house, home, and friends. But I was bored. Needing the edge. Hungry for a kick. So I told her we needed the money, and I had to do one last job.