An Explosive Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (11 page)

‘Not so tight.’ Crombie cautioned. Rhyllann paused long enough to give him an incredulous look, then continued wrapping Alfie’s snout with tape, though his movements were a little less rough. When the tape petered out, he swiped his hands down his combat trousers, stood up and stalked out the door without saying a word.

Lowering Alfie’s head to the floor, Crombie whispered ‘Sorry mate. Be back soon.’ and hurried after Rhyllann, catching up with him on the third landing.

‘Let me handle this.’ He pleaded. ‘You go downstairs, there’s an alligator sanctuary in Weymouth. Phone them and tell them to expect us later today.’

Rhyllann’s deep brown eyes glittered manically, pushing Crombie aside, he twisted the handle of Wren’s door, his face a mask of fury.

‘Please son, I just want this night over. I can’t stand much more.’ Crombie laid a hand on his arm again, taking a deep breath as he felt the tension relax and the fight go out of Rhyllann. He nodded, suddenly looking as weary as Crombie felt.

‘You’re right. Let’s just get this over.’ Turning he tramped down the stairs heavily, taking each step carefully.

******

Wren’s half eaten breakfast sat on the bedside cabinet, and his nose was glued to the laptop’s screen again.

‘What the hell are you playing at?!’ Crombie asked before he could stop himself. Wren answered without taking his eyes off the screen.

 
‘I downloaded a programme from the internet. It’s extracting all the information on this laptop, and posting it to a website.’ With a final few taps of the keyboard, he pushed the laptop to one side, and sprung to his feet.

‘Is Alfie back in the bathroom?’

Crombie stared at him in horror. ‘Don’t change the subject again. What information?’ his skin suddenly felt clammy and he gave an involuntary shiver.

Wren shrugged, pulling on a track suit jacket, then searching the bedside cabinet drawers for socks.

‘Lampton’s accounts mainly. Who he’s been paying, who’s been paying him.’ He sniggered. ‘It’s gonna make “Wikileaks” look like a Sunday School outing report.’ Sitting on the mattress, he swiped the soles of his feet and tugged the socks over his instep, folding them over neatly at the ankle.

‘What have you done?’ Crombie repeated.

‘Stop worrying Crombie. The door swings both ways. I traced the spy ware back, rerouted your phone and who ever placed that bug is gonna get the blame.’ He smiled, as if to reassure Crombie. ‘As an added bonus, all info on your spymaster’s computer drive should be public knowledge in about twenty minutes.’

His smile faltered, waiting for Crombie to stop gaping and say something.

‘Do you know what you’ve done?’ He finally managed.

‘Yes. I’ve exposed corruption. There’ll be an enquiry. Some people are going to jail. Tough.’

Crombie swallowed against a mouth that was parchment dry. ‘You idiot. You could bring down the government. Don’t you care?’

A memory flooded back of a thirteen year old Wren, even more precocious.

‘You wanted this all along. Anarchy. It’s what you’ve always preached.’
  

Wren looked incredibly smug and incredibly pleased with himself. ‘A little rebellion’s good for the soul, it’ll be more fun than you think.’

This time Crombie didn’t give any warning. He punched Wren squarely on the jaw.
 
changing the smug expression to one of pure puzzlement. Then Wren’s eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed against the bed’s mattress. Stepping over Wren’s legs, shaking his hand and rubbing his knuckles Crombie went in search of Rhyllann.

Rhyllann had changed his combat trousers for shorts again, a bandage swathed his right leg from ankle to mid calf, and he stood over the kitchen sink, splashing water over his face.

‘All fixed. Left a message on their answer phone anyway.’ He smiled happily, patting his face dry with a tea towel.
 

‘Did you sort that little shit out?’ He asked good humoured now he’d managed a wash, and with Alfie firmly secured in the bathroom. Crombie didn’t know how to answer him.

‘Well?’ Rhyllann’s smile began to slip.

‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’ He doubted Rhyllann would ever get into the RAF now.

‘What is it Crombie?’ He gave a laugh that sounded forced and unnatural, taking in the grazes on Crombie’s knuckles. ‘You haven’t killed him have you?’ His face drained of colour, apart from two red spots glowing on his cheeks, and Crombie knew he’d better find the words to explain very soon.

‘You’d better sit down. It’s a long story.’

‘Make it short Crombie. We’ve got a long drive in front of us.’

Summoning his tired brain into order, Crombie managed to give a concise account of what Rhyllann had missed while sunbathing in Mallorca.

‘Big whoop Crombie. If he said it won’t bite us, it won’t bite us.’

‘I’m not worried about that.’ Though he was. ‘Don’t you get it? I recognised several names. This goes all the way to the top, and it’s going to bring the country to its knees.’

Rhyllann shook his head, looking amused. ‘Chill. No it won’t. They’ll shut the website down, or call it a prank and blame some conspirator group. You’ll see. Remember all that fuss over “expenses” a few years ago? How many MPs lost their seats, let alone went to jail? And if they didn’t have their hands in the till, they knew what was going on.’ He blinked hard, thinking. ‘Or at least, they should have made it their business to know. It’ll blow over. Stop worrying, you sound like an old woman.’

Crombie wanted to believe Rhyllann, and wished he hadn’t slugged Wren. As though conjured up by his thoughts, the kitchen door opened and Wren staggered in, holding a tissue to his lip. He scowled at Crombie. ‘You hit me just once more, and see what happens.’ To Rhyllann he said ‘Leave it Annie. It’s probably my fault again.’ He managed to smile, trying to get back on Crombie’s good side.

Crombie shifted uncomfortably in his seat under Rhyllann’s accusing stare.
 

‘He
did
provoke me.’ He muttered.

Rhyllann laughed suddenly. Pointing at Wren he said ‘What the fuck have you been up? No wonder Carrie left. I’m seriously thinking about leaving!’

Wren stared at him balefully. Shaking his head, still smiling, Rhyllann patted Crombie’s arm.

‘Don’t let him wind you up too much. The internet’s for geeks. And he’ pointing at Wren again ‘is the Prince of Geeks.’

With this old insult, the tension in the room dissipated.

‘I’ll put the seats down on the Passat.’ Crombie wanted to get while the going was good.

‘What do you mean?’ Wren grabbed at his arm.

‘We’re getting rid of your pet tonight. No arguments.’ Crombie shook his hand off, waiting for the protest, but Wren nodded and muttering about getting Alfie ready, hurried down the hallway and up the stairs, Crombie following him out.

Crockery clinked behind him, and Rhyllann taunted as he cleared the table.

‘You still driving that old scrap heap? I didn’t notice it.’

Which wasn’t surprising, it would take a troop of boy scouts to clean off the dirt and grime of the M40, especially with the extra added bonus of sticky sap. Crombie didn’t bother to reply as he let himself out the front door.

Crossing the road to the Passat, feeling his eyes about to drop from their sockets, Crombie decided the easiest way would be to hand over the keys to Rhyllann and let him drive his crazy cousin and the alligator down to the coast. The Passat’s rear seats split into a two and one combination, the double cushioned seat came down smoothly, but the single seat’s back rest refused to move, no matter how hard he pulled at the release trigger and tugged at the headrest.

Headlights suddenly flooded the road, and Crombie ducked, shielding his poor tired eyes and cursing to himself. A car door opened and closed, followed a minute or so later by another soft clunk. Feet shuffled and voices were kept to an undertone.

Crombie deduced one of the neighbouring families had grown tired of their hotel and sneaked home. He hunkered lower, giving them time to get inside their house and settle down for the night, wishing his neighbours were half as considerate.

His mobile pinged with a message, probably a scolding from Mrs Crombie. Crombie began the usual hunt through his pockets, searching for his mobile, when he stilled, mid rummage. Frowning, he remembered his mobile currently rested on a dark blue duvet cover, attached by an umbilical cord to Lampton's laptop. When a second ping came, he frowned, hunting for the source of the sound. A third ping came from the direction of the passenger’s seat, Crombie squeezed into the front and rooted around in the dash pocket. Hidden under a pile of MOTs, was an old Nokia mobile, its fascia lit up like a miniature Christmas tree. Crombie froze. He hadn’t used that phone in over four years. There shouldn’t be any battery life, in fact the battery should be corroded. He withdrew it from the dash pocket with a hand that wanted to tremble; unable to shake a premonition that his dead father was trying to make contact with him. Instead a simple graphic of an envelope filled the tiny screen, and Crombie told himself he’d been overdoing everything and needed a good long rest. Ignoring the sage advice from his brain, his heart continued its double time beat; something strange and unwanted was going on here. Feeling bemused, he opened the text in box.

“Keep quiet + don’t be scared.” he read. Crombie blinked in amazement. Of all the times for someone to start pulling his leg. There were two further texts. He opened the second one, anxious to get to the punch line.

“Lampton is here. He has Annie.” What he read next made his blood run cold. “They’ve got Lizzie.” Crombie scrolled up barely able to believe what he was reading. “Get on the flat roof. Hurry. Don’t call for help. Trust me. Please? Wren” Crombie breathed out heavily. He might have known. Wren didn’t do text speak. His hands were so sweaty he fumbled twice before managing to open the third text which repeated the first. “Keep quiet + don’t be scared.” The screen dimmed out as the battery died.

Closing his eyes, Crombie read every word again, emblazed as they were on the back of his retinas. “Hurry.” How the hell could they have Lizzie, how the hell? Crombie flew into the cul-de-sac leading to the warehouse, conscious of every muscle, every sinew and every drop of blood racing with adrenaline. Within seconds it seemed the warehouse reared in front of him, its black silhouette a fortress against the night sky. Crombie ran to the side of the building, racing up the fire stairs on the balls of his feet, keeping his heels clear of the metal steps. “They’ve got my girl, they’ve got my Lizzie.” His heartbeat thundered in his ears now, even so all he heard was his mind screaming at him to hurry hurry hurry. Once on the second landing of the fire escape, he chucked himself onto the flat roof of the kitchen extension. In the split second before he jumped, he saw just one figure outlined against the kitchen window, above this, Wren; his face and hair a whitish blob, leaning out of the sash window of Rhyllann’s bathroom. Wordlessly urging him to hurry, beckoning double handed as though landing an aircraft, wincing as Crombie flumped on the flat roof with the grace of a baby hippo.

‘Hurry up, Someone’s bound to come looking after that crash!’ Wren balanced on the bath tub, he stepped down and back for Crombie to climb in. The window sill was hip height, squeezing his shoulders awkwardly into the window, barely listening to Wren’s gibbering (‘He thinks Annie’s me, and is trying to beat information out of him, Crombie he hates your guts!’) Crombie discovered there wasn’t enough room to hoist his leg over the sill. He pulled back again, twisting his arms to clutch at the window frame, trying to dive through head first, almost dislocating his shoulders for the second time that night.

‘Hurry up you fat bastard!’ Wren hissed, blue eyes ablaze with anger, ‘I can hear him in my room.’ He froze. ‘Shit. Get out! Get out!’ He pushed ineffectively at Crombie’s chest, pausing suddenly to turn and look towards the landing. ‘Keep quiet!’ Wren darted to the door, pulling it closed behind him.

With his upper body completely wedged, Crombie made a sitting duck, Wren was right to be annoyed with him, fat foolish and old. “I’ve let her down, I’ve let her down.” He blinked back tears; crying would be a humiliation too far. A bundle of towels on the bathroom floor moved, and Crombie stared into Alfie’s eyes, regarding him with something like pity. The window frame dug into his fleshy upper arms, cutting off blood circulation and his hands began to tingle, cold night air stung his knees, he must have ripped his trousers and grazed them without realising, and now they throbbed spitefully. He wriggled again against the rigid wooden frame, freezing when a door whispered open creating a draught. He stopped breathing when the bathroom door began to edge open too. Throwing his snout with its muzzle of yellow and green electrical tape clear of the towels Alfie waddled forwards, towels continuing to drop away from his body revealing muscular stumpy legs, pedalling in the comical sideways movement they had.
 

‘Oh shit!’

He could only watch as both doors creaked open; Alfie framed by the bathroom door, across the room one of the Lampton boys - the older stockier one, stood statue like at the bedroom door, his eyes fixed on the alligator, which continued to waddle forwards, dipping his head up and down as though the wrapping around his snout pulled him off balance. Flattened against the wall, his arms above his head, Wren stared into the distance. Apart from a slight wobble of the cricket bat he held aloft in both hands, he too could have been a statue.

For ten heartbeats, the Lampton boy stared at Alfie. Then the inevitable happened, and he raised his gaze to Crombie, who stared steadily back. A look of joy spread over the granite features, and he called down to the kitchen.

‘Nothing to worry about, I’ve got this!’

Jeering ‘Pose for Poppa, baby, don’t either of you move an inch.’ The Lampton boy fished around in a rear pocket, Crombie prickled with humiliation; he was about to be caught on film again and he wriggled frantically.

‘Oh boy, no-one’s gonna believe this!’ producing his mobile, Lampton selected the camera option, with his eyes glued to the view screen, he took a couple of steps into the room, crouching to make certain he got both Crombie and the alligator in shot. With a thwack that gladdened Crombie’s soul, Wren hammered the cricket bat down on the crown of Lampton’s head, as though whacking a stump wicket into a sun baked pitch. The phone dropped from Lampton’s hand to skitter across the floorboards, the guy continued to stare at Crombie with a puzzled expression on his face before toppling forward in slow motion.

Wren managed to catch him before he nose butted the floorboards, lowering him almost tenderly to the ground. Crombie let go a deep breath, watching as Wren frisked through pockets, bending the guy’s legs out the way to close the door. Stepping over Alfie, Wren hurried to the bathroom window, with a gun in his hand, scooping the phone up on his way and dropping it into a back pocket.

‘Here.’ Giving Crombie the gun, he shoved violently, and Crombie popped backwards from the window like a cork, his upper arms screaming with pain.

‘Get downstairs, in the garden. I’ll be at the kitchen door.’ It sounded like an old music hall song.

‘What about him?’ Crombie whispered.

Wren frowned. ‘He won’t come round, not for hours.’

‘No - the alligator - can’t we use that - chuck it through the window?’

Wren’s face turned red with fury. ‘No we bloody can’t. Don’t you think he’s had enough upset for one night?! Now get downstairs and wait for my signal.’

First though, Crombie checked the gun, sorely tempted to use it on Wren’s retreating back. Dropping as noiselessly as possible to the garden Crombie duck walked under the half glazed kitchen door, straightening to edge round the corner and flattening himself against the wall. Bones grated as he twisted his head to peer cautiously into the multi paned window, aware of his heart beating painfully, the gun heavy and menacing in his hand, determined to use it and worry about guilt later. Sitting in a kitchen chair at the side of the table, the back of his greasy head presented nicely to Crombie was Harry Lampton. Leaning against the protruding sink counter looking down and to his left was the younger son, carelessly pointing a stubby pistol towards the low slung sofa.

Crombie’s heart leapt at the sight of Lizzie, her short blonde hair muzzy with sleep, her eyes appeared closed, but he quickly realised they rested with concern on Rhyllann, whose head slumped against the curve between her shoulder and neck.

Crombie noticed all this in seconds before he dodged back again, and placing both hands on the gun, thumbed the safety off and steeled himself to shot Harry Lampton in the back of the head. He took three deep breaths, sucking oxygen way down in his lungs and letting it out slowly again, looking down at his hands, making certain they didn’t tremble. Peeling himself from the wall, he spun round 180 degrees placing himself squarely in front of the window, arms outstretched, holding the gun double handed. At that instant, Lampton’s son caught the movement. Leering at Crombie, he raised his gun hand to point directly at Lizzie. Lizzie gasped and shrunk back, causing Rhyllann’s head to roll and he stirred drowsily. Lampton senior turned slowly to stare at Crombie, his lips beginning to lift in a triumphant sneer. Lizzie’s face filled with hope, swiftly followed by alarm, and Crombie raised his hands high above his head, trying to plead with his eyes, please please, point that gun away from my daughter, please stop scaring her and I’ll give you anything. He didn’t know if he mentally begged Lampton junior, or a higher power.

But his silent pleas were in vain, a short sharp noise crackled out and the marrow in Crombie’s bones dissolved leaving him limp and lifeless, until he remembered the gun still in his hand. Lampton senior, quick as a snake moved from his chair to grab at Rhyllann’s hair with one hand, the other pulling down Lizzie who was half rising to her feet, but most bewildering of all, Lampton junior twisted his upper body to stare at the fanlight imploding in a rainbow of red. Events speeded up, in the space of a heartbeat a tangle of bodies writhed on the sofa; Lampton Senior recoiled as Lizzie head butted him around the ear, Rhyllann threw himself to hug Lampton Junior’s gun arm, tugging him off balance. Seconds later a shot rang out, and Wren charged into the kitchen, cricket bat over his head and brought it down against the side of Junior’s face with the force of a chef wielding a cleaver. All this happened while Crombie threw himself at the window, splintering wood and glass into a discordant explosion, rage burning through every molecule of blood galloping through his veins. Rhyllann and Junior were crumpled on the floor, Lizzie and Lampton Senior glared at each other, and Crombie reversed the gun and pistol whipped the reptilian old man with every ounce of pent up fury he possessed.
 

Wren swiped his fringe back with his fingers, only for it to spring up in an even madder style.

‘Hi Lizzie. Sorry about this.’ He looked Crombie up and down, Harry Lampton crumpled at his feet.

‘Sorry I called you a fat bastard.’ Swallowing hard, he leaned over the sink to peer at Rhyllann and Lampton Junior. The cricket bat had caved in the right side of Lampton’s face, one eye stared unseeing up at his attacker, but strangely only a thin trickle of blood leaked from Junior’s mouth. His arm and jacket flapped over Rhyllann’s face, obscuring all but a clump of dark hair.

‘Oh god.’ Vaulting the sink unit, Wren tugged Lampton from Rhyllann’s curled body, while Crombie hoisted Lampton Senior onto a kitchen chair and after cuffing him, grasped a handful of greasy hair and slammed his head viciously against the table.

At that moment he sincerely hoped the bastard never woke up again. Grabbing a knife from the block, Crombie sawed at the cords binding Lizzie’s wrists. As soon as she was freed, he hugged her briefly, before pushing her back on the sofa, and knelt beside Rhyllann’s body opposite Wren. Wren’s hand hovered over Rhyllann’s shoulder, he stared up at Crombie wordlessly. Feeling strangely detached, Crombie rolled Rhyllann onto his back, and straightened his legs. Rhyllann’s skin was unnaturally sallow, but Crombie was encouraged by the warmth and firmness of the flesh and blood beneath. Touching his index and middle finger under Rhyllann’s jaw, he felt a steady pulse and felt his breath on his arm. Wren watched with eyes that seemed enormous, encircled with dark shadows. Something in Crombie’s face spoke to him, with a huge sigh of relief he yanked a mobile from his pocket, and called up a number on speed dial. The other party must have answered promptly, Wren began rattling out orders.