Hunters: A Trilogy (55 page)

After all, it was their Right to know.

Without a word, the two men gathered the plastic sheeting and then checked to see if they had left anything else behind. Satisfied, they turned and walked towards the car. Once again their passing left not one trace, even the gravel underfoot seemed willing to protect their identity.

Climbing into the Spear, Ken said, ‘Let’s go home and get a brew, shall we?’

There were no other words required. Jane engaged drive, floored the throttle and they sat back as the BMW surged forward with an urgent growl. As they left the village, the ‘Mission Complete’ signal slid onto the screen. Mike touched the panel and then waited for the Shrink Down button to appear.

‘Everybody ready?’ he asked.

Hearing no dissent from the others, Mike pushed the button.

Part Two.

It was Susan who alerted the teachers to the caretaker’s absence. The little girl had been around to his hut with the cakes she had taken from her mother’s ‘treats only’ tin. Mum hadn’t been looking, and besides, Mr Peters had said she mustn’t tell. ‘If we are going to become friends, then we will need to have some secrets, won’t we Susie, my angel?’ he’d whispered. He had stroked her head and promised her an adventure, one that only his ‘special friends’ would be able to have. ‘But we must be careful, or else everyone else will want to come,’ he’d said, as he touched her arm. ‘Then it won’t be an adventure, will it, and you won’t be a special friend, will you?’ He’d smiled down at her and she had smiled back.

Susan wanted an adventure, she hadn’t had any since Daddy had gone – she missed him and his adventures, terribly. Daddy’s adventures were just the best! Once, they’d spent the whole weekend in a tent at the bottom of the garden, and she’d been allowed to eat Heinz Beans for every meal, just like it said on the telly. Then they’d played hide-and-seek at night. That had been so much fun, well, until Mummy decided that she was scared and shouted at Daddy for going ‘Wooooo’ from behind the rose bushes – Susan had laughed and laughed. Mum had gotten all crotchety and gone inside. Although, she couldn’t have been too cross because she had soon came back out to the tent with some hot chocolate for Susan. Then Mummy and Daddy sat and drank dirty beer all night long, Mummy had ended up running around the garden with a flower pot on her head. Mummy was really funny when she drank dirty beer.

Susan wondered how long it was going to be before her father came back from work. He’d been away for weeks and weeks. ‘That stupid work – stupid Army, why can’t he come home?’ she thought, looking up at the door with the ‘Caretaker’ sign neatly painted in red on its varnished face. ‘And Mr Peters isn’t here, and he said he would be, he was always here, even when he had the door locked, he was here.’ Sometimes she had heard him humming inside, sometimes it sounded like he was moaning, but not in a sad way, he sounded sort of happy. ‘Mr Peters was always such a happy man!’

She turned away from the door and ran towards the main building, tiny grey skirt flicking and bouncing as she raced across the sports pitch. Susan almost flew across the tarmac, long blonde hair flying out behind her as she ran like the wind into the main entrance of the school. Once there, she went and told the duty teacher that the Caretaker wasn’t in his hut, and even though she had bought the cakes he had asked for, she still couldn’t find him. Susan knew it was supposed to be a secret. ‘But what must I do with the cakes he asked me to bring?’ she asked, looking up at the teacher, wide blue eyes beaming.

The teacher’s face registered the reality. Peters had been interviewed several times, but he’d always made sure that his ducks were in line; no-one had ever seen him so much as near the kids who had gone missing previously – the thoughts slammed into the woman.

‘But, Susie! My God, if she had been tricked then, well… goodness knows!’ Terrible realisation dawned upon her. ‘The child was the brightest pupil we have ever had the pleasure of teaching… Oh Lord!’ Scooping Susan into her caring arms, she turned and strode towards the Head Master’s office.

At approximately the same time, Gladstone Police Station received a telephone call from the local Forestry Commission. Apparently there was some kind of a problem in Windy Woods…

Part One.

They received a message on the Communicator three days later. In the message, George said they should take a break for a few days and that he would inform them of any new missions if and when they arose. Hearing the news, Mike had decided to head off for London to see his latest girlfriend.

‘I’ll be surprised if she’s still talking to me,’ he said, with a wicked grin. ‘I haven’t answered her calls for nearly a week now…’ Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, Mike headed for the door where Ken and Jane waited for him.

‘Yeah, well, you can hardly tell her what you’ve been doing, can you? “Hold the line, love, I’ve just gotta use the Shrink Down”… Can you imagine it?’ Ken said, winking at Mike as he opened the door.

Together they stepped out into the bright sunshine, which had been gracing the Highlands for more than two days now. Its warmth bolstered their spirits and helped to dispel some of the gloom that seemed to have settled upon them. Ken fully expected George to have had a hand in the improved weather conditions, too. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if ‘that lot up there’ didn’t control a whole lot more than they owned up to.

And so, after some fond farewells, they had seen Mike off, standing and listening to the howling reverberations of the Porsche’s engine echoing off the hills as Mike raced away. ‘He’s a mad bastard!’ Ken said, putting his arm around Jane and turning back into the house.

***

Two weeks later he received a text from the Australian. ‘Be with you tomorrow,’ it said, ‘and put the kettle on!’ Mike had returned to the lodge the next day, rolling onto the drive at about three in the afternoon. They heard the Porsche’s engine ticking and pinging with heat as they wandered across to help him with his bags.

Ken laughed. ‘Still taking part in the ‘safe driver of the year’ award, I see, eh Mikey?’ he said, nodding at the car.

Mike smiled and handed him his bag. ‘Just shaddup and show me to my room, bellboy!’ he said, jovially. He looked a lot happier and his demeanour immediately rubbed off on the other two. Grabbing his things, they all went inside with a spring in their step; it was good to have him back.

Jane didn’t hesitate in quizzing Mike about his lady-friend down in London. ‘How’s she coping with you being away, did you make your excuses for not keeping in touch?’ she asked, giving him a knowing look, which proved to be well-founded, as was usual.

Mike shook his head sheepishly. ‘Ah, I didn’t have to, when I arrived back home, the flat was empty,’ he said, ‘so…well, I guess that’s another one who’s flown the coop!’ He laughed and then said: ‘All is not lost, however – I went down South and saw Carol, it’s been a while and we had lots to catch up on!’ He winked at Jane and then pretended to cringe in anticipation of the berating he knew would be delivered.

Jane gladly obliged him. ‘Honestly, Mikey,’ she said, ‘one of these days you will make a commitment to some poor girl! You can’t just keep leaving people in your wake, you know!’ It was their standing joke and the argument continued as they made their way into the sitting room.

An hour later, sitting crouched around Mike’s machine, they learned the details of George’s next little task. After Mike had flicked the lid open and tapped in a set of numbers, the Communicator, with its usual glow of green lights, had summoned their master to appear once more. After taking a brief moment to ask if they had enjoyed their break, George started his latest tale.

‘There is a child, one who will be taken by a man, but not in the way Peters took the others. No, this child will be taken by the substances that a certain person sells, this man is responsible for the deaths and misery of many people, young and old, willing and unwilling alike,’ he said, glancing at his audience. After a pause, he continued, saying: ‘He has changed some of them forever, and it has come to our attention that he will shortly have influence over this particular child, an influence we cannot allow to perpetuate!’ George fiddled with something on his desk.

The face of a young boy floated onto the Communicator’s ghostly screen.

The child sat before a bank of computer screens. As they watched his fingers flashing across the keyboards, like a demented organ-player, the onlookers also saw the ‘Bad News’ information box, glowing in menace beneath his figure.

‘Phillip John Rogers, future Ultra Physicist – At twenty three years of age he will single-handedly develop the world’s first Reactive Synapse Computer. His design will reshape the way in which the entire globe operates. Rogers’ future work is of crucial importance to the advancement of Hydro-Technologies.’

The screen flashed once, and before them they now saw PJ Rogers in a future he was not currently destined to have. The tall, bespectacled young man stood before a row of shining metal objects, they were obviously machines of some sort, computers perhaps, but like none Ken and his fellow onlookers had ever seen. A huge screen hovered above the bank of machines, it flashed and shimmered as a stream of technical diagrams pulsed and twisted across its face.

Three dimensional objects, which seemingly formed themselves, whirled onto the screen. Numbers and letters flashed incessantly across the display. One by one, each piece of information flashed with the word ‘Complete’ before sliding into the ever-growing line of similar equations that lay in perfect symmetry on the left side of the floating screen. Instantly, another line of data would be fed into the calculations.

Phillip Rogers stood before the screen with a remote control in his hand. Any time there was a pause from the machine, he would immediately flash the remote at the screen, and then, using the laser, he would drag the numbers and lines into the correct place. He seemed to be able to calculate faster than the machine.

‘And you think I have the ‘Magic’, huh? Jesus Christ, look at this kid!’ Mike breathed out in awe.

PJ’s actions were indeed mesmerising, he looked like a conductor in full flow, almost as though he was dancing, the numbers and symbols of his electronic orchestra skipping effortlessly through their immaculate symphony. The tiny earpiece he was wearing glowed in rhythm to his hand movements. It looked as though whatever he was thinking was being instantly transmitted to the machine via the remote control device held in his waving hand.

By any standards, it was an impressive sight. However, the little digital box glowing on the screen beneath his flowing figure totally ruined the moment.

‘Breaking News’ Bad News…

‘Phillip John Rogers. Aged eleven-years; enticed by one Steven O’Hara and introduced to addictive substances. Rogers will be using Crack Cocaine by age fifteen and will die from a drug induced heart attack at seventeen years and three months of age.’

The scene changed once again – this time they were shown Steven O’Hara, in all his glory. A long list of names rolled under the images of O’Hara and his friends, names of people who had become customers of the blond-headed dealer. There were a lot of them, too, probably in their hundreds, Ken guessed. Their names were interspersed with several scenes of the police and also numerous funeral corteges, the distraught faces of relatives appearing briefly on some TV show or another. All the time the grinning face of the skinny blond man would be shown as he and his friends went about their daily business.

‘They have a lot of guns, these bastards, don’t they?’ Mike said, as they watched O’Hara shoving a machine-pistol into the bottom of a cupboard.

‘Yeah, I reckon so, that’s a bloody MAC-10, isn’t it? I just can’t believe these idiots have access to gear like that!’ Ken said, and shook his head, looking across at Jane in disbelief.

Finally, the briefing, as it were, came to an end. All of the information began its transfer onto the disc, and whilst they waited, George summed up. ‘So, there you have it,’ he said, ‘a rather nasty little man, I would say. Fortunately for us, his wellbeing is of no concern whatsoever, but his influence over young Master Rogers is of critical importance. We cannot allow Mr O’Hara to influence this young man, not at all!’ They nodded in agreement.

George spoke again. ‘I know this is difficult for you,’ he said. ‘You should be aware that we are eternally grateful for the way in which you have all conducted yourselves thus far. Many of these people are going to be doing great things in the future, some of the results neither you nor I will ever see, unfortunately. Time passes for us all, I am afraid…’ Turning away from them, he reached across and they heard the tapping of a keypad before he looked back up at the screen to deliver his final instructions.

With a serious expression upon his face, George said, ‘I have transmitted some further instructions for you to read. We need you to use the aerosol. Then take O’Hara to the warehouse. There are others involved in this and we cannot be sure as to how they will behave. Just take him to the location as per the briefing and observe via the Scanner from a safe distance.’ He paused, and then said, ‘Oh, one other thing – be careful with this person, he is very wily and has managed to survive on his wits thus far. I doubt very much if you will simply be able to barge in on him. He is more dangerous than you would think…’ He looked pointedly at Jane, said his goodbyes, and then with a flick of some hidden switch, disappeared from the screen.

***

For two days they studied the information George had sent them. O’Hara was indeed a slippery character, and one who never seemed to be in the same place for very long. The views of his terraced council house never gave much away, either. The dirty net curtains were always closed, and even using the results from the advanced methods of surveillance which George had used to gather information on him, the trio only ever caught fleeting glimpses of the man as he slunk to-and-fro between his various haunts.