Attrition of the Gods: Book 1 of the Mystery Thriller series Gods Toys. (34 page)

“If we do anything to show our hand then Reuben will realise that you are being helped by someone with a teleconnection to Simeon. He will soon work out that it must be an Arc Hon and we don’t want him or the other Djinn knowing we have sided with the humans. If he does, then we will lose our advantage. He will break the connection and probably kill Simeon, once and for all.”

Shane didn’t care about this Simeon but knew any advantage in a battle was worth protecting. Amitiel had told him something else.

“Once you and Robert Price have cleared the gates, my associate will get you to a safe house. I will come to you once more but that will be last time until you fulfil the task.”

Shane was wondering how exactly he was supposed to do that. He was just one man against this powerful Reuben, but then Amitiel had made it four times worse.

“You are now in the game and although Reuben is the prime target, the other three Djinn must also be taken care of if you are to win.”

The dream had then become a vision as Shane was transported to the White House. He saw some faces he did not recognise and one he did. It was the President of the United States of America. He was sitting with a bespectacled geek who was surrounded by the same sort of multi-coloured mist he had seen in yesterday’s vision. This one, though, was predominantly red.

“This is Levi. He is very much involved with controlling the American government.”

In front of Shane’s eyes the walls had crumbled and then been rebuilt. Now he had found himself in a Russian military base where the Russian President and the generals were inspecting a squadron of elite forces. Shane saw no auras on anyone. The vision followed the President as he returned to his Moscow home where there was a tall effeminate-looking young man waiting by the pool. When he entered, the leader of the largest country in the world had a smile on his face rarely seen in his media portrayal. He dismissed his entourage, leaving him with just the athletic, well-groomed, tanned young man. The two men locked in a passionate embrace, undressing each other and showing no restraint, their lust for each other obvious. Shane thought he was beyond shockable but watching the macho Russian President stick his tongue down this young man’s throat took him by surprise. He felt slightly guilty at his own discomfort at the scene and looked away as the kiss became groping and the final clothes came off.

“Fuck, who would have known,” he’d said, taking one more glimpse and this time spotting the anomaly hovering above the young man’s head, a tightly formed yellow cloud. It seemed to move in tandem with the man, swirling around his whole body, then up above, then wrapping around his shoulders. It was wondrous and seemed to be an aura protecting its master. Shane noticed the look of wonder on the President’s face. At first he thought he must see the aura as well but then he realised exactly what this look, far removed from his usual solemn public persona, really was. It was love.

“Asher pulls the strings at the Kremlin,” Amitiel had commented.

“That’s not all he pulls,” replied Shane, immediately regretting his immature jibe as Amitiel ignored him.

Finally Shane had witnessed the Chinese delegation arrive in Nigeria. By now Shane had worked out what to look for and he zeroed in on the chauffeur of the Chinese general, a Western-looking man, who was surrounded by a green aura.

“This last one is Judd,” Amitiel had told him. Each of these Djinn are your foes. Each must be defeated for you to be victorious. You must play this game as you would play chess. So, for instance, you are the queen, Robert is the knight, and outside these walls are the other key pieces.”

“Two rooks, two bishops and another knight?” Shane had mocked, uncomfortable with the comparison.

“Our first mission will be to recruit these others,” concluded Amitiel.

“Firstly, I prefer to work alone. Secondly, I’m no queen,” said Shane.

Amitiel laughed. “Gender is not important; the queen is the most powerful piece.”

“What about the king? You haven’t got the most important piece of the game? Your analogy sucks.”

“My analogy is just fine,” she frowns. “And as for the king, she is coming.”

“She?”

“Like I said, gender is not important.”

Shane has been lying awake for some time. Amitiel was sure that Phil Cumisky’s distraction and the following attack was scheduled for between three and four in the afternoon. Shane would meet Leo for the normal game of chess at one. Somehow or another he needed to make sure he was still in that area for at least two hours and that Robert was there too. He had a plan and explained it as best he could to Robert. Robert just nodded, agreeing to everything. Shane was impressed at the lack of questions
. This guy just follows instructions,
he thinks to himself
. Perhaps he will be a good
ally after all.

If the plan is to work timing will be essential. He will also need both Leo and Robert to follow his instructions to the letter. He is less worried about Robert’s part now but fears Leo may crack under the pressure. Shane leaves his cell at 13:50 and heads up to the psyche ward. As usual he is searched before leaving his wing and searched before entering the psyche wing. He sees that the game is already set up and Leo sits calmly waiting just like any other day. The enormity of what he is expected to do weighs heavily on Shane as he struggles to return the smile.

“Are you ready to play our final game?” asks Leo, as Shane takes a seat. Shane is not capable of joviality and remains stony-faced. Leo decides to kick-start the conversation.

“So, have you worked out how you’re going to do this?”

Shane looks around before he explains everything to Leo.



Reuben, as always, has done his homework. He has researched Stoke Prison heavily and has three of the prison guards on his payroll. The main building of the prison was built in 1900. Although a new block was added twenty years ago, the main building has only been majorly refurbished once, which, Reuben was glad to see, was back in the fifties. His plan relied on the antiquated structure of the building making it vulnerable. It was almost too perfect. His only concern now was that one of his informers had failed to report in last night. Still, he had all the information he needed. The plan was flawless.

The new block contains the psychiatric ward, including the solitary cells and also the high-security wing. He wonders if there might be some useful inmates in there
. It would be a waste not to
utilise such talent,
he thinks to himself.

The crux of Reuben’s plan concerns the older part of the prison, known as C wing, which houses B-rated prisoners. Below this wing is the main service area, which encompasses the gas boilers that heat the whole complex. C wing is a virtual tinder box and a survey carried out only six months earlier, which Reuben has possession of, states that “the Victorian premises are over-reliant on its ageing wooden structure and are a serious fire risk”.



Phil Cumisky is impressed that his brother managed to entice the screw, Boland, to allow him to smuggle the explosive device. Boland just wanted his little girl back.

The explosive is similar to the shoe bomb favoured by terrorists when planning to explode planes. It would set off a small explosion followed by a fire accelerant disperser.

Phil has also been told exactly which shaft he must drop the device down to cause maximum carnage. He will have three minutes to clear the area and get out to the yard. He’s not going to enjoy burning all these other inmates to death and has given some thought to letting a couple of friends know what was going to happen. Ultimately, though, he can’t risk his own safety for anyone else’s – even if they are mates. Anyway, the idea of being on the outside again with an eight ball of coke in his pocket and some whore bouncing up and down on his dick counteracts any guilt he feels.

The time is now 14:40. He will drop the device down the shaft at 15:00 as agreed. As he makes his way to the drop point he notices the black guy, Al Qaeda Bob, being escorted out of the wing by two guards. “What a jammy bastard,” he thinks to himself. “Gonna miss all the excitement.”

Phil tries not to look suspicious as he walks but his heart is pounding as random thoughts enter his mind:

What if it doesn’t go off?

What if it goes off before it’s supposed to?

What if it goes off in my pocket?

He feels drips of sweat trickle from his thickset eyebrows
. Fuck, stop sweating!
he tells himself.
Someone will know something’s up.
He places his hands in his pockets and then pulls them out quickly, scared he might hit the trigger. Eventually panic takes over and he decides he has waited as long as he can. Nervously he drops the thing ten minutes early and he swiftly walks away from the shaft and heads for the exit
. Almost there,
he thinks.
Almost home.

Before Phil can make it to the yard, however, an alarm is activated and the door to the outside automatically closes. Phil is confused and petrified. Guards are running around shouting and screaming.
How could they know already? The fucking thing hasn’t gone off yet!

“Everyone in their cells,” shouts the guard as the alarm is blaring.

“I am due to play in the tournament,” shouts Phil, trying to push his way out.

“All exercise is cancelled. Get to your cell!” shouts the guard, pulling his truncheon out. Guards are running around all over the block and Phil is being herded along with other inmates back to their cells.

He is filling with primal fear. He’s the only one who knows this is about the worst thing they could be doing. In about thirty seconds this place is going to be an inferno! Panicking and desperate not to be locked up in a cell he yells out, “Fire, fire.”

Gerald Penavager, a particularly violent screw, reacts to what he assumes is Phil’s attempt at rabble rousing by gripping him around the neck with his baton, dragging him to a cell and locking it behind him. Philip’s cry is like that of a squeaking pig but it’s lost in the chaos of the moment. From the distance an explosion can be heard and the whole ward goes quiet. Another explosion follows and then another as the domino of gas tanks set each other off and rumble through the floor. Finally, as Phil cries to the heavens, C wing rocks and cracks open, the extreme heat melting his clothes to his burning skin, igniting his hair and cooking his insides. His heart gives out seconds before his brain fries. A louder explosion signals the end for C wing and its occupants.

Twenty minutes earlier in the psychiatric ward Shane had just finished his game with Leo. He had a maximum of thirty minutes before the attack and needed to still be here when it happened. His plan was simple: if Leo was so determined to die then he was going to have to work for it.

“Okay, I am going to pass you a shank. You will do that hissy fit thing you do and take it to my throat. I am going to be your hostage and you will demand to see Robert Price. Tell them he can stay on the other side of the security door but that you must speak to him.”

Leo’s reply is not overly enthusiastic. “I don’t have hissy fits and they won’t deal with hostage takers, it’s their policy.”

Shane grabs Leo by the sleeve, pulling him close as he leans in. The serious look on his face conveys to Leo his impatience. Keen to get things started, he explains, speaking precisely and quickly: “As long as you say that Price can stay on the other side of the cage they will have no reason not to because they will not have put him in any danger.

“Once he is up here we will talk shit until Price gets the opportunity to overpower a guard. I will take out fat boy over there.”

Shane nods towards the guard by the door just as a second guard enters, who frowns at Shane and Leo so Shane releases Leo’s sleeve and smiles. The guard is more interested in talking to his mate though.

“You hear about Brogan down in the visiting room?” Shane’s ears prick up, momently distracted from his task by the name of the guard Amitiel had promised to be nice to.

“Yeah, heart attack wasn’t it?” replies the second guard.

The guard scoffs. “He was apparently having a wank in the storeroom and his ticker went on him just at the time of arrival, if you catch my drift. Died with his trousers round his ankles and his pecker in his hand. Not a very dignified way to go.” There is a second’s respectful silence before both guards burst into laughter. Shane laughs to himself; she really did give him a happy ending.

“So where is this shank thing?” asks Leo.

“Oh right, I just need to go to the bathroom and I will bring it back out with me.”

Leo pales as he works out where Shane has hidden the shank.

“Run it under the tap, will you?” he requests, as Shane gets up to go to the loo.

Robert Price sits in his cell waiting. He has done as Shane asked and strapped the small jemmy bar to his back. Shane believes the screws won’t search him very thoroughly when they bring him up to speak with the disturbed Leo as they will be focused on Leo as the danger. Robert isn’t so sure but he has done what has been asked of him.

Mick O’Halloran likes it here on the psyche wing. The fat Irish guard has been at Stoke Prison for almost twelve years and most of the guys are either sedated or in solitary, piece of cake. His mate Kenny even just came by for a chat while he dropped off some paperwork. They’d had a joke about Brogan, the poor bastard. It was weird that Brogan had died from a heart attack only a month after running a marathon in less than three hours. Mick could hardly walk the corridors in three hours but he feels a small triumph as he thinks, “all that fitness training is no good. If it’s your time, it’s your time.” Mick removes a Snickers bar from his pocket. “This is the only marathon I’ll be finishing,” he jokes to himself.

While he is stuffing chocolate down his throat he notices Shane come back from the toilet. Mick wonders why a man such as Shane wastes time on a loony like Leo. It’s a strange coupling, he always thought.