Hunters: A Trilogy (54 page)

Mike looked up from the machine, said it was a negative, the download had completed, and what they had was it. No more information. ‘All we have to do is to stick it in the Spear tomorrow and away we go,’ he said. With a touch of his hand, he ejected the disc and closed the Communicator down.

With a practised ease, the trio checked over their equipment, placed everything neatly away in the red case and then laid the whole lot on the kitchen table. Ken made sure Mike had his gloves and then placed a strip of the blue tablets where they would not be forgotten. After a final check they were done – Ken suggested they get some sleep as it was going to be a very early rise and he needed everyone to be as fresh as possible. By Mike’s calculations, they would have the job done and be back in the lodge by six the following morning, providing it all went well, that is.

***

At just gone two o’clock the next morning, and after a few hours of fitful sleep, Ken dragged himself from under the warm quilt to make his way to the shower. He cranked up the heat and stood under the searing needles of hot water, letting them blast away the weariness from his mind and body. After finishing with the shower, and showing his mouth a quick flash of the toothbrush, he climbed into his clothes and headed downstairs for a rendezvous with the kettle. Walking past Mike’s room on his way to the kitchen, he was pleased to see the sliver of light shining from under the Australian’s door. ‘I’ll get the brews on and take one up to Jane; she must be shattered with all of this…’ Ken felt a pang of guilt at the thought. He, personally, was filled with excitement. Any thoughts of tiredness had been long since washed away by hot water and adrenaline.

Thirty minutes later, with their blue tablets swallowed, suits on and gear packed, they were seated in the Spear waiting for the information regarding their task to load onto the screen. They made some small talk, but it was too early in the day for much else. Plus, there was also some quiet reflection going on.

Jane started the engine and Mike inserted the disc into its reader.

To their surprise, George himself appeared. The news he gave them wasn’t good and included details of how they were going to use one of the pens on their target. Once he had been immobilised, they were to ensure that Peters’ death appeared to be suicide. The detailed instructions George gave them made Jane shudder. Ken saw the movement in her shoulders as he sat in the rear watching his own mini screen on the back of Mike’s headrest.

George’s words penetrated the warm luxury of the cab. ‘It is doubtful the aerosol will work on this particular individual,’ he commented. ‘Some part of his mind seems to be void of reality. Just stun him and then, well, you know what is required after that…’ It was the first time he had used a visual briefing, preferring to use the more normal, written method.

His personal appearance made Ken realise that perhaps this one was a big deal. It was either that, or the old man was worried.

Watching the data filter onto the dull blue screen for a while after George had gone, Mike stopped the player, reached down and began strapping himself in. ‘Buckle up folks,’ he said, grinning over his shoulder.

Seconds later, he sent them into the void.

Their arrival in the cold, dark lay-by caused a sleeping blackbird to leap, chattering with surprise, from its cosy hedgerow roost. It swooped low across the road to their left and then stood on the verge with its head cocked, angrily looking at the strange vehicle that had appeared as if from nowhere.

Ken looked at his watch. ‘Let’s go!’ he said, and reached for the door handle. Stepping into the night, he waited until Mike was out and then placed his hand on the glass next to Jane’s head. She reached up, placed her palm against the window and smiled at him. Ken nodded once before turning away.

Crossing the road, the two men walked down the hill towards the cottage. The blackbird, shrieking in anger at the added inconvenience, flashed past them on his way to find some alternative place to sleep. Entering the back gate, and using the overgrown hedge as cover, they moved towards the cottage. Ken headed for the outhouse, whilst Mike used his mystical key and entered the building through the back door.

He slipped from room to room, gathering items from their clever hiding places and sliding them into the plastic bag which he had stuffed in his pocket before leaving the lodge. Within ten minutes, he had re-joined Ken in the outhouse. Placing the bag down, he whispered: ‘All good, where’s the rope and the ladder?’

Ken pointed at the two items he had placed against the far wall. ‘Yeah, I’ve found ‘em, but I need to try this pen,’ he growled. ‘I dropped it and the cap’s come off. I’ve stuck it back on but I still need to test it.’ Taking the pen out, he looked at the cap, twisted it, aimed the device at the wall and then squeezed off a shot. The pen functioned perfectly and they watched in silence as its green fire spread across the surface of the old wall. The liquid appearance of the spreading energy illuminating the darkened interior of the building, as it dissipated, the room darkened once again. Only a strong smell of burning remained.

‘Okay, that still works, I suppose,’ Ken said. ‘If it doesn’t, then I’m just gonna clout him one, either way – he’s coming with us!’ He placed the pen back in his pocket and looked at his watch. According to the briefing, their target should be with them in eight-minutes. Ken leaned across to Mike. ‘I’ve put a roll of plastic over there, too,’ he said, pointing through the darkness, ‘we should stick him in it, just in case he’s bleeding or something…’ Mike looked at the plastic and nodded in agreement.

Looking at his watch again, Ken whispered: ‘Let’s get out of here. Peters will be here in a minute.’ He pushed the door open, and with Mike at his shoulder, walked around the side of the outhouse. They stood shivering in the shadow of the cottage, waiting for Jane’s text as dawn began its lethargic climb into the new day.

The vibration Ken’s his hip pocket wasn’t long in coming.

Peering at the display, he saw the words he craved.

‘Target approaching, all clear.’

He slid the phone back into his pocket and tapped Mike’s arm, nodding his head in the darkness to signal Peters’ imminent arrival. Together they crouched in the shadows with their hearts racing, listening intently as the sound of a gate, scraping against stone, reached their straining ears. There was a moment of silence, and then the sound of a man whistling softly floated through the air – this was followed by a watery splash, the noise of which raised them to their feet once more. The signal for them to move came in the form of a clicking latch followed by the sound of the outhouse door rattling shut.

The two men ran around the side of the building, Ken leading with his pen in hand. The cap was twisted and his thumb was on the button. Reaching the door, he stepped to one side and allowed Mike to raise the latch, which he did with all the skill of a cat burglar. Not a sound was made as the door swung inwards.

Ken stepped into the dimly lit room. Peters spun around, his eyes widening in shock. Without hesitation, Ken shot him with the pen. His action produced a beam of green light that came leaping out of the pen’s nozzle. It was a great shot; the beam hit the man squarely in the face. Peters froze where he had been standing. They saw the energy reach out and touch every corner of his skull, staring in horror as it illuminated the blood vessels in his ears and raced down his throat. He was consumed by it.

‘I…’ was the only sound to escape his mouth before he crumpled to the floor.

Mike stepped over him, reached for the roll of plastic and a ball of garden string that was hanging on the back wall.

Ken swapped the pen for his mobile and rang Jane. ‘Come down and reverse onto the drive,’ he said, ‘keep your eye on the Scanner, we’ll see you in a bit!’ He pressed the call end button and turned towards Mike.

The Australian was in the process of rolling Peters onto his back. They pulled his coveralls back on, making sure the guilt-ridden gloves were in the pocket, and then rolled him onto a large piece of the plastic sheet, bundling him up and unceremoniously trussing the package like a giant Christmas turkey. Within fifteen minutes, he was dumped into the rear of the gleaming Spear, which Jane had rolled onto the gravel track at the side of the beautiful old cottage. A black plastic bag, containing, amongst other things, his over-shoes, was put into the boot next to him. The final thing they did was to lay the man’s rusty step-ladder across the top of his quivering form. After shutting the boot, Mike and Ken ran around and slid into the leather-bound interior of the vehicle.

Ken leaned forward, saying: ‘Let’s go!’

With its sweet engine purring softly, the Spear slipped away into the dripping dawn light. The only sound was a slight crushing of gravel beneath the tyres as it turned left and headed for the woods. They left not a trace of their presence.

Jane looked across at Mike, eyebrows raised in query.

‘No worries, it all went to plan – well done!’ he said, in confirmation of her unasked question.

Without any need for further talk, she took them back to the wood, back to Peters’ abhorrent place, the place where he kept his secrets, his Rights.

Within ten minutes they had arrived in the wood. Tiny beads of moisture began to settle on the windscreen as they rolled into the darkened cave of its ghostly interior. Jane quickly swished them away with the wipers. The mist was much thicker now, draping itself like some ghostly veil across the dripping branches of the trees, its white fingers reaching down into the very heart of the place. The dampness of its presence released the odours long-hidden within the ancient wood’s ever-rotting, yet ever-growing, soul. It was a fitting place for such a secretive monster to meet his maker.

After rolling to a stop in the pre-determined place, the two men exited the Spear and walked around to the rear. Having waited for the boot lid to rise, they reached inside and removed the various items needed for the unpleasant task ahead. Then they turned back to Peters, dragging him roughly from the boot and dumping him on the ground, before removing his tightly-wrapped plastic sheet.

They prepared him in such a way that his secret would be no more, the awful truth of who he was and what he had done would be revealed for all to see. Yanking him into a sitting position, they propped him up and tied the thick rope around his neck. The loose end was expertly looped over the bough of a tall chestnut tree that rose above them, the old tree had borne silent witness to all of his actions beforehand and it would, ironically, become his judge and executioner, too.

Ken stepped over to the car and spoke to Jane. ‘Take the car to the end of these trees, face it the other way and keep an eye on the Scanner will you, love?’ he said. Ken wasn’t really worried too much about any intruders, but did need an excuse to keep Jane from seeing what he and Mike had to do next. With a nod, he shut the door and turned to the task at hand. The Spear rolled away and, with a slight flash of brake lights, came to a halt near the edge of the wood.

Ken grunted as he carried Peters in a fireman’s lift to the top of the now erect step-ladder. Mike steadied the ladder and took up the slack on the rope as he climbed. Ken held their victim’s body up until the rope took over the task, eventually leaving Peters sagging but upright, the tension in the rope preventing him from falling, but only just. The stricken man’s arms flopped by his side, swinging like an unattended puppet. As he sagged ten feet above the ground, Peters was already starting to choke.

The rope was tied to a nearby fence post and then securely looped around a second. The friction gained by being wrapped around the bough of the tree would prevent it from slipping, but they made doubly sure. Peters stared down in abject horror as Ken and Mike prepared their deadly apparatus. The rope, which cut into his throat, prevented any sound from escaping his writhing lips as his horrified eyes looked down at them. They never acknowledged him in the slightest and were extremely efficient in their actions, wasting not a single movement.

At last they were done, if Peters was expecting some kind of a sermon, or a last wish, perhaps, then he was sadly mistaken. Stepping back from the ladder, Ken looked up at him, shook his head in a gesture of chastisement, and then kicked the ladder away.

Peters plummeted into the abyss, neck dislocating with a sickening crunch. The fall never killed him outright, and unluckily for him, he spent his final moments being strangulated by his own weight. The spattering sound of his own piss was the only eulogy he received, the release of his bladder allowing a long stream of yellow fluid to run freely from the bottom of his trouser legs.

Reaching into the plastic bag, Mike, who had been looking away for the final act, extracted a thick roll of garden string and the galoshes. Slipping the over-boots on, he reached up and proceeded to tie one end of the string to the dying man’s wrist, he turned and followed the dreadful route to the children’s horrific, hidden resting place. As he walked he let the string roll out behind him, finally laying it in a circle around the small plot their killer had chosen for the children’s burial place. Taking a twig, he pegged the end of the string into the earth above their tombs. Mike reached into the bag once more and pulled out the pieces of clothing their killer had kept as trophies. He scattered them within the circle of string, grimacing as the cleanliness of their innocence stood accusingly in the darkness of the wood.

Rising to his feet, he stood with head bowed for a few seconds.

‘Sorry we weren’t here before,’ he said. ‘We didn’t know about any of this… I’m so sorry, there wasn’t any need for you to be hurt, but I’m afraid that the world is filled with Darkness. You can sleep now.’ He paused to gather himself, before whispering: ‘It’s over; you can rest-in-peace now. Susan will be fine, just fine, don’t you worry…’ With tears in his eyes, Mike turned away and walked back to where his partner waited in the mist.

Ken had already placed the shovel, which he’d retrieved from the hidden pipe, by the side of the fallen step-ladder. Mike carried out their penultimate act and slid the galoshes off his feet before placing them beneath the still-twitching training shoes hanging above. The last thing they did was to scatter a handful of photographs, ones their victim had kept in his secret drawer back at the cottage, onto the unfeeling ground below his dangling corpse. Every single one of them landed face up. Their dreadful story too painful to tell, a picture paints a thousand words. The children would be found and their parents would get to know the truth.