The Codex File (2012)

Table of contents

Miles Etherton
lives in Hampshire, England, with his wife and two children. He trained as a journalist before getting into broader communications and marketing.
The Codex file
is his first novel.

Miles Etherton

The Codex file

Copyright (c) 2012 by Miles Etherton

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

Miles Etherton online: http://milesetherton.tumblr.com

First Printed: 2012

For Ethan, Milo and Joanna

The flick-knife snapped open with frightening ease, its serrated edge glinting in the light of a passing streetlamp. The weapon was standard issue for CODEX operatives, along with most of the contents of the canvas bag that sat in John Kennedy’s lap.

Pulling each item out one by one, he scrutinised his equipment - preparation was vital, and nothing could be overlooked.
The first object was a transparent bag containing an assortment of plastic ties, designed to restrain his victim and viciously bite into her flesh if she struggled. A length of rubber tubing was next, followed by duct tape, and finally a can of spray paint - everything he required for the job.

Vincent Trevellion sat next to Kennedy in the driver’s seat, navigating the blue Mercedes through the dark, quiet streets of Hersham. Turning right into a long tree-lined road that stretched round a gentle corner, the 1930s pebble-dashed house they sought came into view.

Trevellion pulled the Mercedes up alongside the pavement a few houses down from their destination. Apart from a few parked cars, the street was deserted, intermittent streetlamps illuminating the darkness.

Reaching into his jacket pocket Trevellion pulled out a handheld electronic device. The screen blinked and a menu of options appeared. Sliding a finger purposefully across the screen an intelligence file on their ‘target’ containing a photograph of a woman appeared on screen, smiling, walking hand-in-hand with her husband, their daughter running along behind. The photograph had been taken on a long-lens camera several weeks before. He didn’t really need to look at it again. He knew what she looked like - it was burned into his memory.

He scrolled down past the photograph to the text below about Colette Robertson, a technical director at a leading web technologies company. Past the biography his eyes scanned the final line of text accompanying the picture: “Objective: Colette Robertson to be eliminated under Phase 1 of CODEX operation OP09/ST”.

Closing the file, Trevellion opened a second intelligence report attached to the data on Colette Robertson. A picture of her eight-year old daughter, Clare Robertson, flashed up on screen, a pretty girl with long blonde hair that fell over her shoulders and down her back. Once more he scrolled past the image to the biography and objectives below. And again, the same order had been issued: “Objective: Clare Robertson to be eliminated under Phase 1 of CODEX operation OP09/ST”.

Trevellion closed the files and placed the electronic device back in his jacket pocket. The murder of a child might be distasteful, but it would guarantee the necessary nationwide media coverage.

Even if their car was spotted, the registration plates wouldn’t lead an investigation anywhere meaningful. The stolen plates would only lead to a long deserted warehouse in rural Scotland, and whilst the police were chasing their tails, they’d be long gone.

Trevellion tapped his opposite jacket pocket to confirm the two high capacity flash drives were still there. They were special issue for CODEX operatives, not the standard multi-gigabyte versions you could buy on any high street. These could handle terabytes of data and weren’t for public consumption.

Kennedy nodded silently, a slight sneer crossing his face. Replacing his equipment in the bag, he used the vehicle’s mirrors once more to be sure their entrance wasn’t overlooked.

Satisfied they were alone, the two men exited the Mercedes and began their approach to their victim’s house.

Colette sneezed for the umpteenth time that day and reached for yet another tissue. She winced slightly as she dabbed her nose, red and sore from wiping away the non-stop proof of her cold. She really must buy some of those balmed tissues that were always being advertised she thought, gingerly stroking her nostrils.

She hated being ill and this was the third cold she’d picked up in as many months. She was starting to think that maybe it was flu since she’d begun feeling progressively worse as the day had gone on. Her muscles ached, the throbbing headache was pounding now more than ever, and her streaming nose showed no sign of stopping. Tossing the damp tissue in the general direction of the bin she watched as it bounced off the side and landed next to her cat. He eyed her suspiciously, awoken by her latest sneeze.

She hoped she’d be well enough to return to work tomorrow. But secretly she doubted it as she felt her head, bunged-up with cold, start to throb again.

Reaching for the TV remote control she began to channel-hop, looking in vain for something half-decent to watch.

Maybe she ought to do some work she wondered. There were always meetings to prepare for, reports to compile and strategic IT problems to solve. Particularly at the moment. Yet the thought of sitting in front of her high-powered tablet device just seemed to make her aching head throb further.

What she really needed was a bit of TLC. But instead, everything seemed to have gone wrong. On today of all days. It was their wedding anniversary after all. But where were all the people she cared for?

She began to well up again as the bitter exchanges around breakfast that morning came flooding back. Deep down she knew it hadn’t been Michael’s fault that his company’s Managing Director had invited him to an important corporate dinner.

“
Look, you know what these work functions are like, I really have to go. I can’t get out of it. I’m really sorry,” he said.

“
If you were sorry, you would have said no and made some sort of excuse,” she yelled angrily back at him. “I can’t believe you didn’t
realise
what day it was on.”

“
I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” he replied sheepishly before returning to his toast.

Attendance hadn’t been obligatory. They never were, were they? You only didn’t go if you were happy to stay in the same old job for the rest of your career. Michael hadn’t mentioned the fact that she’d done the same many times in the past on her way up the career ladder at SW Technologies. She’d remembered though, and had kept that fact to herself.

It hadn’t mattered this morning. It was their anniversary, and she’d been pissed off about it. Particularly since she’d gone down with a heavy cold as well. It seemed like the whole world had been conspiring to ruin their special day.

She couldn’t even seek comfort in their daughter. She was at an important ballet rehearsal. The performance was on Saturday after all. The mother of one of Clare’s friends would be picking her up after the rehearsal tonight. Normally it would’ve been Michael. But not tonight, all because of that bloody dinner. It just wasn’t fair.

At least she had Harry with her she thought with a little more comfort when he jumped onto her lap and began purring softly.

Closing her heavy eyes again she let her thoughts drift slowly away to happier things. Before they reached very far she became aware of a distant ringing, somewhere in a different consciousness.

Have I started dreaming? Am I asleep or awake?

She didn’t really care until Harry leapt from her lap, clawing her thigh as he used it as his launch pad.

The ringing was much louder now, and much nearer. Opening her eyes with a start it took her sleepy mind several moments to realise the doorbell was ringing. Maybe Michael had forgotten his key in the heat of their argument in the morning?

Casting a quick glance at the antique clock on the mantelpiece she knew it was too early. Unless he’d decided to skip the function after all. Had he come home to surprise her on their anniversary?

In the hallway she could see two figures through the glass of the front door. One tall, and one shorter and stockier. The shorter man was carrying some sort of case.

Reaching for the porch light switch she blinked with surprise as the figures on the doorstep remained in darkness.

Slowly opening the door, the men who had been looking away turned to face her. For a long moment all she could see were their silhouettes and the slight outline of their faces. Just before the taller man spoke she noticed the porch light bulb was missing.

“Mrs Roberston? Mrs Colette Robertson?” the low, unfamiliar voice asked.

She’d barely confirmed her identity when the stocky man’s fist crashed into her mouth and nose. A ring tore into her top lip. She felt herself career backwards and impact heavily on the oak floorboards. Sinking into unconsciousness she was aware of the tall man closing the front door and bending over her.