Hunters: A Trilogy (53 page)

Without faltering, he leaned forward past the lens, before returning into view with a pistol in his hand. Nodding once at his electronic audience, James McBride placed the muzzle of the weapon in his mouth, closed his eyes 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 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 patches of static on the security video, and they were no big deal, just a couple of fuzzy green lines blurring the screen.

McBride’s Mercedes was parked in the basement garage and it, too, was devoid 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 solve.

***

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 were now in a position to 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 ever reached the top of the queue.

His parents were filled with a terrible mixture of emotions: joy at the news, sorrow at the loss of someone else’s child, and dread at the thought of the huge hurdle which their own 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. Joseph flew through the operation without complication, 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; they were completely smitten by his clear-eyed honesty. The child was truly astonishing and just seemed to view everything in a completely different way to everyone else.

On the day when 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 a last glance at the auburn-headed child, he smiled and raised a hand in farewell.

Joseph nodded once, and with the calmest of expressions upon his small face, waved a solemn return salute to one of the people who had given him a future. And what a future it would be…

Part One.

It was on the news the next morning. As they sat, drinking endless cups of hot tea, the TV in the kitchen blurted out its headlines regarding the demise of the by-now-infamous James McBride. The newspaper headlines were being discussed by the morning guest panel: ‘Notorious banker commits suicide, millions in hidden funds returned. Charities rejoice!’ Pictures of McBride from his prior courthouse appearance were rolled again, white teeth gleaming as he smiled for the cameras outside the building.

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 said, sitting back down heavily and lifting 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 on what McBride had done to himself, either. But there wasn’t a lot they were able to 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. ‘I just hope the kid gets his transplant,’ he thought, ‘at least then there will have been some sense to all of this.’

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,’ he said. ‘Things move on and we knew what we were getting into. Anyone else fancy 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,’ Ken said, ‘let’s get another brew and a wedge of toast down our necks, 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, but 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 – 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, finally breaking 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,’ he suggested. ‘This is bad, I know. But let’s simply get on with it, maybe there’ll only be a couple of these jobs and then it will all be over.’ He didn’t really think they were in a position to turn back now anyway, it was just something within him, a feeling of absolute calmness, pulling on his mind. They had to see this through, Ken knew that with certainty.

He looked seriously at them, saying: ‘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 that 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 that,’ he said. ‘It’s what we’ve signed up for here, so…’ He finished there, letting the unspoken words have their own say.

Ken also made them keep busy, and under his supervision the blues soon passed. He 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 once more, in the hope that there would be some information waiting for them, 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. It wasn’t long before they’d taken to the hills for an hour. It was a wise choice – the fresh air whisked the lead from their steps and quickly cleansed their clouded minds.

An hour later and they were back down at the lodge, 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.

‘I wish I didn’t have this Devil in me,’ he thought, ‘I wish I could just tell George to piss off, and 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 to his feet and gave the other two a shout.

‘Right, that’s about enough wood to light a fire for a week,’ he said. ‘I vote we chill out for the rest of the day, what do you think?’ Grabbing an armful of logs, Ken 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 glow radiating into the lounge where the trio were lying 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 felt the Dragon within, it had awoken and the fire it breathed illuminated that terribly dark corner of Ken’s past. The killing days, and all they had meant, were back. His mind raced with the thought of their next task. He hoped it would be that prick, Peters. As the light hit the walls of their warm room, he sat up, slid his legs over Jane’s and swivelled until he was able put his feet on the floor. He rose carefully, so as not to disturb her, and then reached over to Mike.

Shaking him, Ken whispered: ‘Mike, something’s happening with your gizmo.’

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 said, before standing up and making 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 asked, yawning 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.

George apologised for the lateness of his call. ‘I am terribly sorry to disturb you,’ he said. ‘I know that it is late, and I am also aware of the fact that you have had a very difficult night…’ He waited for a response. There was none. With a nod, the old man continued. ‘Well done on yesterday, by the way,’ he said, ‘I did not contact you as I know things may have become quite traumatic.’ He looked sternly through the screen at them. ‘However, this time things will be a bit more personal, I am afraid to say, and that is not something I would want at this particular moment. But, unfortunately, the subject has killed once more and…’ George paused, before saying: ‘Well, it is as though he has twisted in some way, inside. His hunger does not seem to be sated – we fear his next victim will be taken much sooner than was thought.’ He shook his head in annoyance.

‘Is it Peters?’ Ken asked, looking at his partners.

They saw the fire within his eyes. It wasn’t something Jane had ever seen before. Mike had, though, on more than one occasion.

George gave it to Ken, gave it to him straight. ‘Yes, he will be with his latest victim in the woods at dawn tomorrow,’ he said, in a low voice.

‘What about Susan, where is she, George? He hasn’t taken her yet, has he? Please tell me that he hasn’t taken her!’ Ken almost shouted out the questions, his hands clenched into balls, words lancing through the atmosphere. Their passionate volume caused George to blink, just the once.

He drew a breath and said, ‘Stay calm, Kenneth. Peters does not have Susan, not yet. But he is planning on taking her soon. We need you now – this one is going to be difficult. We require your inner strength, your fire!’

It was Ken’s chance to blink. The reference to that particular element, the one he had only just been thinking about, shocked him. ‘I knew the old bastard could read minds,’ he thought, angrily. ‘Well, if you
can
read minds, George – then hear this: just shrink me down right now, I’ll go and get the bastard and then it will be game over, okay?’ He stared at the old man and waited for some sign.

There was no acknowledgement of his attempted telepathy.

Instead, George calmly gave them their instructions and began transferring all of the information into the Communicator. Mike used the same little disc over and over again, at the end of a mission always erasing every piece of data about it.

Ken had thought about the implications of that, what if they made a mistake, how would they prove they were not simply a gang of random vigilantes? But, then again, who in hell would believe their tale anyway? No, either way, they were screwed. Ken knew that their only salvation lay in immaculate planning and even better execution. He also knew in reality that it was exactly what they were – random vigilantes. It was just so happened to be that they had some really good assistance, out-of-this-world assistance. He smiled bitterly to himself and turned to listen to the old man’s voice.

The latest briefing was very concise and almost impersonal in the way in which it was delivered. When it had ended and without further ado, George had gone. He’d very politely said goodnight and wished them well, but he hadn’t hung around. After he had gone, faded back into the screen and left them with his latest gift, one which it appeared that only Ken really wanted to unwrap, they sat and watched the playback. The time to go and take care of Peters had arrived. After fifteen minutes the screen darkened. Much to the others’ relief, it was he, Ken, who assumed command of the briefing.

He stood up and said, ‘So, by the looks of things, Peters is going to be there at about four am, we need to get into his place and get the things, the evidence that he has stashed away. Mike and I will go onto the property.’ He looked across at his friend. Seeing Mike nod, Ken continued. ‘Jane, you sit up in the lay-by and text me when you see him on the Scanner,’ he said. ‘I’ll have my phone on vibrate…’ She also nodded and continued to listen to her husband’s rapid-fire instructions.

‘We’ll use the lay-by up the road from his cottage as our destination point,’ Ken said, staring at Jane. ‘You can watch the house from there. As soon as he’s in, then you come and join us. Check the Scanner first, and if there’s anybody else around, then just wait until they’ve gone, okay?’ Jane gave him a thumbs-up. Ken smiled and turned to Mike, asking: ‘Is there anything new on the disc?’