by Ian Brett
Inside I was smiling. Winston thought he was hard but he was a pussycat compared to my army trainers. He’s hurt me, but no permanent damage - I’d had far worse.
But I was running out of time. Whatever I was going to do, it had be in the next 15 minutes.
I began to explore my bonds. These guys were no professionals. My hands were behind the back of the chair in a set of handcuffs. My feet were free - and I hadn’t been searched.
They deserved everything they were going to get.
Winston had lost all interest in me and now and was gazing out of the window at the London skyline as he drank. I inched my hands up the chair till I could feel the tops of my trousers. In my line of work it pays to be prepared, this includes secreting a few tools around my body. My fingers felt for a small pouch sown into the lining. Winston was still ignoring me so I was able to slip the shim into my hand. It was cut from an old Coke can and was about 5 cm long and 2 cm wide.
My handcuffs were cheap. They locked by sliding a curved ridged bar into a ratchet system. Slanted teeth allowed the bar to close and encircle my wrist but prevent it moving back when the ridges engaged. To open them a small key is used to push the ridges down allowing the bar to slide out. If you haven’t got a key you can use something called a shim. With a certain amount of practice you can do this behind your back.
The shim was in my left hand, I carefully eased it between the locking mechanism and the teeth, of the right handcuff, sliding it up inside the rim. I pulled my cuff tighter simultaneously thrusting the shim further and pushing the teeth up.
It unlocked.
I stood up, grasped my chair and smashed it to the floor. It disintegrated and I was left with one spindly leg in my hand. Quickly I picked up a pen from the table. Winston turned, hesitated for a moment in surprise, and then came towards me with his machete raised. “Stupid bastard, you going to write me a letter, or tickle me with that stick.” He swished the blade a couple of times in front of my face then hammered a powerful down stroke across my stomach. If it had hit I would have been opened up. As it was I stepped back and the momentum carried his hand across his body and downwards to the floor.
His eyes were on the chair leg so I stabbed him in the throat with my pen.
He fell to my feet struggling desperately for breath, then went limp I turned his unconscious body over, pushed my handkerchief in his mouth and pulled his arms behind his back. After manhandling him onto the chair. I fitted the handcuffs round his wrists and clicked them locked. He didn’t look like me but the confusion would give me the few seconds I needed.
These guys were used to dominating people terrified by their easy violence. They were arrogant and careless. They’d even left my mobile in my pocket so I texted Charles:
DO NOT GO HOME THEY ARE WAITING FOR YOU. Reply so I know you have this message.
Go to my office NOW.
Within seconds, I got a reply from Charles. We’d been lucky, he’d been on his way home so I’d just caught him. I was better on my own - no need to worry about anyone else getting hurt. Now, for my preparations. Vince had a gun and I had no doubt that he would shoot to kill. The chair leg was useless there were two of them and I needed a proper weapon. Charles’ study held no ceremonial swords, paper knives, or walking sticks but he did have several magazines and some sticky tape. I took one and starting at the spine rolled it up to form a tube. I bound it tightly with the tape. I did the same with another and now had two clubs. Rolled my way magazines become lethal weapons.
I put one on the desk as a back-up and crouched down behind the door to wait. It all depended on how long Patterson and Vince would wait before they decided Charles was not coming. There was no point in my trying to slip down. I’d noticed on the way up that, the stairs were remarkably creaky. Better to wait for them to come to me.
About 40 minutes later I hear the front door open. Shit Charles has come back, the fool. I was relieved when quick look from behind the curtains showed that it was Tom Patterson leaving. A moment later Vince was shouting up the stairs. “Winston, come down and bring what’s left of that guy with you, we’ll dump the body.”
I kept quiet.
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I could hear him grumbling as he came up the stairs. “Winston! Get off your fat arse, where the hell are you? ….If that twat has fallen asleep again I’ll…” His footsteps slowed as the alternatives to Winston being asleep began to dawn on him.
The door opened and a gun came through, then an arm. I raised the magazine and brought it down hard on his wrist.
I heard the bones shatter, just before he screamed. He dropped the gun, I grabbed his mangled wrist, pulled him into the room and hit him hard in the small of his neck, with the blunt end of my magazine.
He went down hard onto the floor. His nose cracked on the polished floorboards and a trickle of blood came out of his mouth.
People are surprised at the carnage you can create with simple household items. A rolled magazine is a fantastic weapon - as good as a club or cosh. It concentrates the power of a blow into a small area. You have to be careful how you use it if you don’t want to kill. Football hooligans had a device called a Millwall brick. They were often searched for weapons like knives or steel combs going into a match but were allowed to take newspapers. They started to roll or twist them into stealth weapons. Broadsheets worked best for this so for a time Police looked out for working class fans carrying a copy of the Financial Times. My magazine was even more deadly.
I picked up the gun, sat on the Charles’ desk and phoned the office. Howard answered. “Hi, its Max, is Charles there?”
“Yes, he just arrived, he’s sitting opposite me now. How are you getting on?”
“Well I have two unconscious thugs here but Patterson’s got away. He and two thugs were waiting for Charles to come home. Unfortunately for them I arrived and was knocked out just after I unlocked the door. They had a bit of fun with me but when Charles didn’t arrive Patterson slunk off. They’re a charming couple, seems they were going to kill me and dump the body. Shall we stash them for a bit?”
“OK I’ll send the van round, we can hold them here.” I’ll let Octavian know, as I said his department seem to have woken up to the importance of Zanic - they will be keen to send someone over to collect them. You OK?”
“Couple of cuts and a bruised ego but I’m fine.
***
“So do you recognise them?” I didn’t but I had a feeling Octavian would. The four of us were back in the boardroom, Howard was chairing the meeting while a somewhat subdued Charles sat drinking coffee and listening to my description of the action at his house.
It was 1:30 in the morning but Octavian, commanding in a blue pinstripe three-piece, looked as alert as ever. “Oh yes.” He said, looking over to the screen that showed a live feed of two men strapped to chairs. “We know these two. The one in charge is Vince Benson. He’s the chief enforcer for Bacon’s group. Special Branch have been watching him for a long time. Bacon’s acceptable, in fact he’s rather useful to us. But we think Vince wants to stage a takeover, he’s branching out into, gunrunning and people trafficking - a thoroughly unsavoury villain. New idea him linking with your Venture Capitalist, Patterson - that’s worrying and we need to know more.”
Howard handed out some papers. “I think we can help there. Patterson’s V.C. business has been haemorrhaging money for the past 18 months. His investment strategy turned wild. It seems all of them, apart from Zanic, have failed.”
Octavian looked pensive. “We know about Zanic Bioscience, they’re important but what’s the link?”
“When Patterson funded Zanic, he was stepping into a new field,” Howard replied “and for once he took good advice. They have the potential to be a hugely successful company, but -.”
“I know,” interrupted Octavian, reading from his notes “that’s why they got government funding. Patterson raised access to about £50 million in four tranches. A government development fund guaranteed about £2
0 million of this through central and regional backing. The intention was to encourage other investment. Last I heard everything was going well…”
“In amongst the legitimate funding Patterson must have linked in with Bacon. We’ve analysed the data we downloaded from his server…” Octavian gave me that look over his glasses. “It seems that Patterson decided to bolster his funds by selling synthetic cocaine. We think he bought access to the formula from the states and started manufacturing in quantity here. Unfortunately for him, this lot,” I pointed to our friends in the cellar, “objected to their market being slashed. Patterson’s synthetic cocaine is stronger and about a quarter the price of the real stuff so they were clearing up.”
“I get it.” Octavian surmised. “Vince Benson, local aspiring Drug Barron, decides to take over the operation.”
“Patterson had no choice, he needed cash fast. He’s got no scruples - being in bed with a gangster offered some advantages. After the initial dust up it was a huge win for both of them. Zanic got the funding it needed and Bacon’s group laundered their dirty money through Patterson’s failing companies. What Bacon doesn’t realise is that Vince plans to take over.”
“A marriage made in hell.” Howard said. “It all started when Patterson got greedy and decided to float the shares. He pushed Prof Miller to start clinical trials early knowing a positive result would increase the value. The problem came when the clinical trial showed the drug to be toxic in some individuals. From Miller’s notes one patient almost died. It’s clear that neither Miller nor any of the other research staff know anything about the fraud. In fact he was going to let the press know about the failure on Monday. Patterson wanted to stop him but Miller was adamant - now he’s gone…” Howard voice petered out as he saw the look on Charles’s face.
Octavian turned to him. “I guess you haven’t heard the news, Prof Miller’s dead.”
“Oh no, what have they done now?” Charles worried.
“Miller was found dead in his room early yesterday morning, looks like he hanged himself. Could be suicide, could be an accident.”
Charles was bemused. “So how do you accidently hang yourself?”
“Have you heard of autoerotic asphyxiation or AEA?” Octavian asked.
“Well yes… I think it’s a type of sex play where the individual gets a thrill from half choking themselves while jerking off looking at pictures. God knows how that works but it’s certainly not Miller territory.”
“Hang on.” Octavian seemed determined to finish. “For some men -and it’s usually men- masturbating while cutting off oxygen to the brain maximises sexual excitement. The pressure of the noose cuts off blood supply to the brain. Oxygen levels drop and carbon dioxide increases - somehow this intensifies erotic pleasure. For many, it’s so exciting it becomes an addiction. Miller was found with a rope round his neck, kneeling behind his bedroom door.”
“But what was the actual cause of death?” Charles persisted.
“Usually it’s an accident.” Octavian explained. “Pressure on the carotid can cause a discharge of nerve impulses that slow down or even stops the heart, and they pass out. Rather like the Karate chop to the neck you see on TV.”
“And in Millers case?”
“He was leaning forward kneeling on the ground. This is a common position. It means that if he wanted to stop or lessen the pressure he could just stand up. Unfortunately, in some cases, impulses from the squeezed vagus nerve causes the person to pass out immediately. As they go limp the choke tightens and it stops blood getting to the brain causing death by asphyxiation.”
“Total bollocks!” - I said. The story was too convenient to believe. “He was murdered and I’m going to prove it.”
Chapter 7 Proposal and Retribution.
“I’m sure you could but we’d really prefer that you didn’t, dear boy.”
I looked at Octavian and spread my hands in frustration.
“Miller died two nights ago but we’ve kept it under wraps till today. It will be put out that Miller died of a sudden heart attack.”
“Oh come on,” This was ridiculous “what about the Coroner he’ll need an investigation - this is clearly an unexpected death?”
“The Professor was an important and valued scientist, so the Home Office Pathologist is involved now. The Coroner has been informed that Miller’s death is a key matter of National Security and he has eventually agreed to record a death by natural causes. Expedient for us and more pleasant for Millers family, I’m sure you’d all agree?” Octavian looked sharply round the table.
“Then Patterson, or whoever he got to do it, goes free.” I said “Not acceptable.”
“Oh no, Patterson does not get away with it, quite the reverse.” Octavian turned to Howard. “That is where you lot come in. A chance to prove yourselves in a more sensitive situation - we’d like you to do some tidying up.”
“By which you mean?” I asked.
“The UK has some of the most successful pharmaceutical and bioscience companies in the world.” Octavian said. “We need it to stay that way - the pensions of the masses depend on it and confidence is paramount. Zanic is too high profile for us to let it implode in an inferno of corruption. It would be…” He searched for a suitable word. “It would be… inconvenient to the Government.”
“Well we wouldn’t want that.” I feigned warm agreement.
Octavian ignored me. “Our scientists think that one of the other molecules Miller was investigating looks promising so his work can continue.” Resting his elbows on the boardroom table he steepled his fingers and beamed over the top of them. “As I say we would like ‘The Consultancy’ to continue the excellent work you’ve started. Look upon this as initiation into a larger world - you’ve done well so far. We’ve been pleased with the little contracts you’ve completed for us. Get this right and there will be a lot more…er… interesting and varied work for you.”
Howard and I exchanged glances “So what precisely do you want us to do?” I asked.
“Well, that really is rather the point, dear boy. We would prefer that you decide that for yourselves. At this level we’re more interested in output rather than input. To be clear,” said Octavian obliquely, “we are just interested in results. We’re not too interested in the how…. What I mean to say is - we’ll tell you what a good ending looks like and then leave it to you. You’ll find it’s a very empowering approach - the Government doesn’t need to be too closely involved in what might be considered the finer details.”
Long experience with government has made Howard weary of vague instructions, so he persevered. “That’s great, but in this case what does a good ending look like?”
“As far as the Government is concerned Patterson’s an unreliable squalid nuisance. He’s too impulsive to understand how his interests would be best served. If, as you seem to think, he had something to do with Miller’s death then we would like that accommodated in any way you see fit. Put it this way, a different company will be taking over the funding of Zanic. Prof Miller’s research will be continued by his number 2. We’re encouraging them to continue to develop their links to the University. As for Bacon and most of his gang; we’re not too worried about them at the moment. They’ve kept the general level of violence down for the last few years and unless there were any of them involved in Millers death they can all be left alone.
Phil looked so shocked that Octavian seemed to feel a need to defend his position and for once, this was from the heart. “Look, criminal life abhors a vacuum. If we remove Bacon, things won’t suddenly get nicer. Some repellent bastard, like Vince Benson who doesn’t even understand the rules of decency, will come in and take over his patch. We can’t accept this. Bacon stays but Benson goes - I don’t care how as long as it’s quiet. ”
I nodded as if I agreed. In fact I did, experience has forced me to be realistic.
“Bacon keeps prostitution relatively clean, hard drugs away from schools and any violence out of the papers. To achieve the
same we’d need to double the police budget and we can’t afford that. For the moment, he stays - you can explain this reality to him again. Perhaps he can sort Vince out for us. Max I’d like you to be the new link between Bacon and us - I need a barrier. He stays but on our terms. Remember, our priority is the quiet return of Zanic to transparent legitimacy.”
After this unusually long speech, Octavian stood up and gathered his papers together. “Well gentlemen if that is all settled I will leave you to get on with it.” He turned to Howard. “Perhaps you could contact me in a few days. We’ll go for a drink and you could tell me what’s transpired. Less obtrusive than meeting here I think.” He walked to the door then stopped turning to Charles. “As long as you’re happy with all this, I think we’ll tidy your mess up too. Stick it on our consultancy bill - call it my good deed for the year.” And he was gone.
***
“Bloody Hell! I’ve never heard anything like that.” Charles and I were back in my corner of the office, chatting over a cupper. He was clearly shaken. “If I hear right he has just told us that he’s happy to cover up a murder and major fraud and will wipe the slate clean for me as long as you two will do all the dirty work and someone bumps Benson off”
“That’s about the size of it. You look surprised Charles…?
“Well yes, it’s just not the way I thought things worked. I’m an MP but he was quite blatant about what he wants to happen and that they will pretend to have had nothing to do with it.”
“Of course, I’ve dealt with his type before, there’s never any paperwork, no come back on them.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Just as he says.”
“What!”
“Look Charles, Octavian can be a bit of a cold blooded bastard but he’s on the right side. He is willing to intervene and do something when necessary. I need that. You remember what I told you about my time in the UN, when we were ordered to just stand by while those people were butchered?”