Hunters: A Trilogy (51 page)

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In the dead of night, two men were planning, but their goals were somewhat different. Mr Peters was busy working out the final moves of his latest, perverted obsession. Whilst, on the other hand, George was somewhere else, somewhere much further away. He was planning on how best to stop Peters.

A piece of string, so they say, always meets in the middle.

Part One.

There was a message waiting for them when they awoke the following day. The screen on Mike’s Communicator had only one sentence upon its shiny surface.

‘Congratulations on a mission successfully completed. We will be in touch.’

They stared at the screen and waited whilst Mike played with the keys to see if they had missed anything. After checking everything, he looked up and said, ‘Nope, that’s all there is – I expect we’ll be hearing from him in a bit.’

His foresight was remarkably accurate.

Almost exactly twenty-nine hours later, whilst they were having a bite to eat the next afternoon, the Communicator woke up again. Waiting for its flashing light was now like waiting for that vital text message from someone important. Every five minutes they would keep glancing at the machine.

Putting his knife back onto the plate, Mike reached over and turned the device so that he was able to operate the keypad properly. ‘This looks serious,’ he murmured. ‘I’ve not seen it that bright before…’

The screen did its magic and then, over their cheese and tomato sandwiches, George gave them their latest task.

His tone was curt. ‘Good afternoon, my apologies for interrupting your meal. A situation has arisen rather unexpectedly. A small child will die in the near future. The child’s parents will, magnanimously, donate his organs for transplant. He is an exact match for one of our subjects, someone who is very important for the future. Vital, one may say…’ the old man said, with a stern expression upon his face.

It was the most sincere that Ken had ever seen George. ‘He’s having a problem with all of this, too,’ he thought. In silence, he returned George’s gaze, listening to their mentor continue in sombre tones.

‘It is rather an unpleasant one this time, I am afraid,’ he said. ‘One child dies and we cannot prevent it, that is never good, I know, but we have to ensure his organs reach the correct person. That should be the focus for all of us here, use it to help you.’ He looked down at something on his desk and then, glancing up again, gave his final instructions. ‘There is a certain individual who, through his previous actions, will cause the organs to miss their intended recipient. We need to persuade him otherwise, and we need to do it in a hurry! All the information you require is being transferred as we speak – it will also be on the disc as per normal…’ As he spoke, the data began its long trip to reach them, its arrival in the lodge causing the small lights on the front of Mike’s machine to start their illuminated parade once again.

None of George’s audience had spoken, the information he had imparted was still seeping into their heads. Jane was tapping the floor with her heels – eyes focused on some far away spot. Mike was looking at the machine with a blank expression on his face. Ken was kind of wishing he still smoked. ‘I could murder one right about now. Bloody hell, dead kids and organ donors…’ He wasn’t too sure he’d made the right choice after all. In fact, he couldn’t actually remember saying ‘yes’ to any of this. His thoughts were interrupted by George’s closing sentence.

‘Yes, well then…’ the old man said, ‘…have a good look and make your decision as soon as possible, please. I am afraid there will not be much time for reconnaissance and things. So, if you decide to help, then your decision will be needed immediately, we have no time to waste!’

With a shimmer, the screen did its disappearing act once more. They sat in silence for a while, contemplating the words they had just heard, and also the expression on the old man’s face. He had looked worried.

Jane said, ‘Oh, bugger, we didn’t ask him about Peters… but, then again, I suppose this has taken priority, has it?’

Ken nodded and the silence continued for a while.

As soon as the lights on the Communicator had stopped their flashing, Mike instructed the machine to play the information that George had embedded into its data banks. It took fifteen minutes for them to receive the story of a certain James McBride. Fifteen minutes to watch the selfish actions that would see one of the Council’s ‘Chosen Ones’ fail to cross the starting line, never mind step up onto the victory podium.

They watched as an array of images paraded across the screen in front of them. All of McBride’s habits, places of residence, favourite haunts and even the colour of his office chair, were shown to them. Everything about the dark-haired city slicker was laid bare before their eyes. Ken reckoned that George and his friends would have been an irreplaceable asset to any Private Investigator here on Earth. If only their number were in the Yellow Pages.

When the trio had finally been shown everything about McBride, they were then given an insight into the small boy, one on whose behalf they would soon have to make some serious decisions. The child smiled up at the camera. His gaze almost looked through them with its grey-eyed intensity.

The text said: ‘Joseph Johnson. Aged two years and seven months: Future Chief Executive of United World Power. Deceased in forty three days’ time, cause: Heart and lung failure. Johnson will be responsible for uniting World Superpowers in the fight against power poverty. He is destined to become Chief Executive of ‘Trans-Global Hydro-Transmitters’ aged thirty four.’

Ken waited until the show had stopped before speaking. ‘They don’t miss much, do they?’ he asked. Mike and Jane nodded in silence. Ken said, ‘Well… what do you reckon then, are we a goer on this, or what?’ In reality, he had already made up his mind. McBride was a sick bastard.

As it turned out, Ken wasn’t alone in his opinions. They all agreed that it was indeed an unfortunate situation – it looked as though the donor child was going to die, no matter what. Of that, George had been absolutely certain. A tragedy they were simply unable do anything about. However, they were able to help young Joseph get the beginning in life he so richly deserved.

Ken said, ‘So, basically, if it wasn’t for McBride, then Joe would be getting this help anyway, that’s the way I’m reading it – to be honest, I think we need to be careful here, it’s like Mike said at the start, we’re either in, or we’re not. If we get involved in every angle, all the ethics and that stuff, well…then we’re gonna end up in a world of trouble!’ He shrugged and looked at them. ‘Trust me,’ he commented, wryly. ‘I just had some serious doubts of my own!’

Jane agreed. ‘I vote that we just get on with it, I don’t know about you, but I trust George, I don’t really know why, but I just do,’ she said, and stood up.

Mike nodded his head and moved across to his Communicator. Five minutes later, they watched as he sent a message to George via the keypad. George’s written reply was even shorter than the previous, verbal briefing.

‘Go immediately. Ensure you use the aerosol device. He must inhale it. Read the instructions on your mission carefully as you travel.’ The message ended with: ‘Good luck!’

With nothing further to discuss, they disappeared to their rooms and quickly slipped the black suits on under their clothes. Once back in the kitchen, they swallowed a bluey and then picked up their gear. Gathering everything, they waited until Ken had zapped the Spear and then hurriedly loaded their equipment into the large vehicle. Checking they had not forgotten anything, Ken picked up the spray cans, climbed into the Spear and closed the door behind him.

Just before they set off, he leaned over to give Mike a pair of his old, leather combat gloves before slipping a second pair over his own hands. Seeing Mike’s raised eyebrows, he said, ‘Just in case, you know? I don’t want my fingerprints all over the place, I meant to bring the gloves the other day, but I forgot.’

Mike nodded, ‘I’ll put mine on when I’ve finished messing about with this thing,’ he said, looking at the dashboard in front of him.

Once buckled up, they waited in silence whilst the information on the latest disc was processed, then sat back to watch as it streamed onto the screen in front of them. Mike tapped busily away at some buttons, and before long they had all the information they needed: timings, location, a good idea of where their target would be and, more importantly, when he would be there. Looking carefully at the detailed map, the trio decided upon their destination. There was an old railway embankment that seemed to fit their needs, but it lay over ten miles away from McBride’s home address.

Mike, unsuccessfully, spent some time in searching for somewhere else nearer to their target. ‘Sorry guys, but we’re not picking up anything closer,’ he said. We have to make sure that we have a good arrival point, and this is the one the Navigator refers us to…’ Making the screen zoom in, Mike adjusted the view so they were able to see into the disused underpass.

Apart from the remains of an old fire, the pre-war brick structure was deserted. Panning the view out and then rotating it through a complete circle, Mike’s actions gave them a good overview of the surrounding area.

‘Okay, that looks good enough to me, let’s just get there and see what happens next,’ Ken said, and then sat back with his eyes closed.

In agreement, Jane started the engine whilst Mike waited for the black tray to emerge. As it did so, the display flashed and they watched as the standard question jumped onto the screen. ‘Transfer to destination. Are you…’ Mike never waited for the question to finish before he pushed the button.

Shortly afterwards, having finished marvelling at the size of the underpass, they resumed their preferred size and waited whilst the uncomfortable wooziness in their heads subsided. The heifers in the field across the way were the only living things that paid any attention to them, and that was only in the form of a lazy, cud-chewing stare.

‘Okay, ready when you are, Jane,’ Mike said, pointing to the blue arrow. ‘Follow the leader, please!’ He smiled and watched the screen as she manoeuvred forward between the walls of the underpass.

Jane gently eased the Spear out from the small tunnel and turned left. Ken checked their surroundings as they passed under the trees growing on the crest of the old embankment. They were alone and unseen as they progressed towards the main road to their east. Once properly underway on that road, they listened as Mike read out the detailed instructions from the smaller screen.

‘McBride is to be sprayed in the face and kidnapped. Just here, outside this shop, we’re to ensure that he is unconscious and then drive him to this place.’ He looked at the screen and pointed to the spot. A red triangle blinked in the recess of a wood. Continuing, he said, ‘Once there, we are to leave him in the car. The contents of the aerosol will take care of the rest.’

‘What then?’ Ken asked, as he looked at the scenery rushing by. ‘Do we just leave him to it?’

The Australian shook his head. ‘Not quite, we are to stay and observe him until he regains consciousness, and then follow him to the office block. It says here that he usually parks in the underground car park.’ Mike said, scrolling through the notes. ‘I’m just looking for any back-up plans. What happens if the spray doesn’t do what it’s meant to?’ After a while he gave up and said, ‘Nothing there at all, they must be pretty confident in the stuff.’ He shrugged and quickly read through the rest of the notes. Closing the small screen, he said, finally: ‘Yeah, basically folks, that’s it. We just have to wait outside until we get a shout from George. I don’t know what McBride will do, but whatever it is, they seem pretty sure that it will be enough.’ He leaned over to watch the Navigator’s instructions.

Jane had turned on to the motorway and was now pushing on at a good pace. They flowed through the heavy traffic for a while and made small talk whilst she kept them moving serenely in amongst the other vehicles. Ken reminded her, ‘Keep us anonymous, we don’t really want to get pulled by the cops if we can help it, hun.’

‘No problems,’ she replied.

Ken looked at his watch. ‘What time are we going to meet this guy?’

‘According to this, we have thirty eight-minutes; I reckon we will just about make it on time,’ Mike said, pointing to the blue digits that were busily counting down on the screen.

Sure enough, there was slightly over seven minutes showing on the timer when they finally pulled up across the street. The tall block of apartments, which housed McBride in luxury, stood proudly amongst their equally expensive neighbours.

They stayed in the vehicle and Ken made sure they kept an eye out for any traffic wardens. ‘If one comes along, pull out and we’ll find somewhere else. We don’t want a ticket, and I don’t want to get my mug on any CCTV cameras, either.’ He couldn’t see any wardens on their particular street and ultimately his concerns were proved to be unfounded – within minutes the warning buzzer sounded and another red icon flashed up on the screen.

Mike spoke on the machine’s behalf: ‘Target approaching…’

Jane put the car in gear and they watched as James McBride walked out of the door, crossed the pavement, and waited by the kerb as the silver Mercedes pulled up. Stepping out, the brawny driver opened the rear door.

‘He’s a big fella, isn’t he? We don’t have to worry about him I hope,’ Ken said. He didn’t fancy rolling around the streets of London with the stocky, flat-nosed chauffeur.

Mike grinned at him. ‘There’s nothing in the notes about it, but I’ll let you do the honours if it comes to that. I’ve much more to lose than you anyway,’ he said, jokingly preening himself.

‘Yeah, dream on pal!’ Ken’s sarcastic reply was cut short by Jane.

‘Will you two pack it in, please? I’m nearly peeing here and you’re messing about! You bloody men!’

Ken saw the silver car pull away from the kerb. ‘He’s moving, let’s go! Is your spray ready, Mike?’ he said, in a tone that bore no trace of his previous jocularity.

‘It sure is – one squirt is all it’s supposed to take…’ Mike replied.