Powder burns, p.32
Powder Burns, page 32
“The red one has all of the blackmail footage on it, apart from your father’s, that’s on the blue one”, Kei informed.
“I also left a nasty gift in the Traum Garten server just in case there are any copies of the footage that I couldn’t identify. When activated the virus will incapacitate the whole online business empire!” Kei said gleefully.
“My friend, I owe you, big time. You name it, it’s yours!” Sam reached forward to the front passenger seat and squeezed Kei’s shoulder. At last, he had his hands on something that would buy his and Declan’s freedom. Sam turned to his battered, bloody husband and found Declan was watching him with a curious glint in his eye.
“What?”
“You know you were amazing tonight”
“As were you. That sweeping kick was perfect!”
“Oh puh-leeze! Get a room!” Kei pouted.
“None of that lovely-dovey stuff in company or I’ll puke.”
Declan laughed and pulled Sam into a hug.
“One day, you too will find true love!” Sam pronounced, and he was not slow in noticing how Alexander took his eyes off the road for a second and sent a slight side glance to Kei.
***
EPILOGUE
Part 1
Erik Madsson sat in the small room that had been his prison and home for twelve months. The walls were painted creamy white, and the heated floor, covered with pale blue linoleum. Viper’s guest accommodations were quite luxurious when compared to some of the locations Erik had been held prisoner, and so, understanding his fate was necessary, he detached himself from his desire for freedom and gave in to what he believed was a temporary anomaly.
His hair was growing into a fine, bright blond mane that fell to his jaw. Erik kept it long as a measuring device because he knew his hair grew a centimeter per month. He preferred to remain clean-shaven so had not allowed his beard to grow out. Shaving was tricky while incarcerated as the razors offered took the title ‘safety razor’ a little too afar. They were made from a soluble plastic and began to dissolve after ten minutes of contact with water, so the razor was only useful for one shave before it turned to mush.
Erik was sitting on his bed staring pointedly down at his left hand and trying by will alone to straighten the crooked fingers. The hand bore a vicious wound, the skin of which had scarred into a raised pink welt at the entry point on the back of the hand, and the exit point that was mirrored on his palm. The wound severed nerves and tendons and his left hand was near useless. Smaller scars ran down his fingers and over the back of his hand like a burst of sun rays. They were from where the fingers were peeled open to try and fix the damage. Erik had no recollection of how the damage was done. He’d asked the Asian bitch and she’d told him that it was self-inflicted. He didn’t believe he would have stabbed himself in such a way, especially as he was only supplied with plastic cutlery, but then again, doubts flooded his mind. The blackouts, fugue states and the near frenzied alertness he’d experienced for many years were getting worse and blocks of time had vanished from his memory.
The interminable unlawful imprisonment was dragging on. Erik thought that Aiken would have passed him on to the highest bidder for shipment to a black ops site where the interrogation could really begin—or maybe he would just make him disappear into another hole. But it was clear now that his value to Sir James Aiken was greater than he’d bargained for.
Madsson could not move on, not until his mission was complete. He longed for a sign from his employer and hoped it would come soon because the routine Aiken set was softening Erik’s edges. The daily British television programs and radio plays were rotting his brain from the inside. The only people he spoke to were Aiken’s agents, and that harpy, Akiko Kimura. Gods, Erik hated her more than he hated Aiken, because she was the one who had poked and prodded his body as well as his mind.
The sudden sound of static came from the concealed speaker system. It continued irritatingly for two minutes so Erik’s attention was well and truly caught. He looked up at the security camera and scowled. This was another part of their plan to break him. He wished he could punch through the concrete and pull the damn speakers and cameras from the wall.
Then Erik heard a voice that sent a shiver down his spine and made tears immediately leap to well in his eyes. A light innocent child’s voice said:
“Pappa, kommer du att sjunga alfabetet med mig?“
(Papa will you sing the alphabet with me?)
He then heard a male voice reply:
“Självklart min älskling”
(Of course, my sweetheart)
The voice sounded familiar, and yet that man was so far away, lost. The child began to sing off-key.
”Ahh, Beea, Cea, Dea, Eh, eF, Ge—”
Erik looked up, his once empty face was suddenly alive with emotion.
”Lotté, min vackra flicka”
(Lotte, my beautiful girl")
Erik remembered that once upon a time in another life he’d had a daughter. The relationship with her mother was fly-by-night, but the outcome of that relationship became his reason for being. He wanted to be a good father, wanted to provide for his child and so he took jobs, side-jobs, illegal jobs, anything that paid so he could secure her future.
On returning to Sweden from his final Special Forces mission in the Middle-East, Erik found that Lotté and her mother had vanished. He was sent a message saying the only way to get them back was to do everything he was ordered to do. He followed the orders and went to a location in Russia—and a year later Erik Madsson left the facility with a mission.
Part of Erik’s mission was to infiltrate A.L.L. During his recruitment interview with Sir James Aiken, the man messed with Erik’s mind and stole Erik’s memories of life with Lotté. The sound of her sweet voice triggered Erik and he now remembered how overpowering a child's love could be and how knowing that she was part of him changed him forever. The thought that she was out there in the world, growing into a teenager without him was devastating. He would not see her again until the mission was complete. The memory of his all-encompassing loss made Erik’s blood liquid mercury. It was all Sir James Aiken’s fault and he needed to pay.
The light on the dumb waiter blinked from red to green, but this time there was no emotionless voice giving him orders.
“Pappa, kommer du att sjunga alfabetet med mig?“ Lotté’s eerie singing continued on a loop. Erik stood and strode to the hatch. He opened it to see it contained all-terrain boots, socks, black clothing, a credit card, and a phone. Hurridly, he donned the garments and put the phone and credit card in his back pockets.
Erik was a soldier to his bones and following orders was his default setting. He was tasked with an important, long, deep-cover mission and although everything had not gone to plan with the survival of Sam Aiken, now Erik was in the right place to be useful again. He knew exactly what he had to do.
If James Aiken was assassinated, proof of his death would start a chain of events that ensured an apocalyptic outcome for his employer’s empire. A steady stream of data was ready to be released to news organizations around the globe detailing the secrets that Aiken had obtained over the years. If James went down, he had plans to pull the whole house of cards with him. The world would be turned on its head by the revelations, and so, therefore, Sir James Aiken was untouchable—for the time being.
Erik stretched his muscles, ignoring the pain shooting up his arm from his injured hand. He was a prized assassin for many reasons, one of which was because he was ambidextrous. Erik couldn’t wait to get his hands on a gun and feel that cold, killing steel against his skin.
He strode to the electrified door and knew that if he placed his hands on it and it was still live he would be thrown across the room by the power of the charge. Erik gritted his teeth, placed his good hand on the door...and pushed it open.
Outside he found an empty white corridor, no alarms, no guards, no resistance.
He may not be able to kill James yet, but at least he could settle a few scores!
****
EPILOGUE
PART 2
Sam and Declan said their goodbyes to Kei and Alexander at Heathrow Airport, and both were surprised to hear that Kei had invited Alex to stay at his London hideaway. The two had become fast friends, and maybe something more.
The agents were secure in the knowledge that they had completed their mission successfully, retrieving everything MI6 and A.L L were looking for—and a little something for themselves. Sam strode the airport hallways with Declan by his side. He recalled the private warning from his father,
“No one is ever finished with A.L.L—there is no retirement package. This life is all you know, all you have been trained for. Do you really think I spent so much time and money on your education to let you skip off into the sunset with your beau?”
Sam was looking forward to doing exactly that—and specifying what he and Declan wanted in return for the only remaining copy of the video of James in a very compromising position with a voluptuous sex-worker. It was a dirty business, but if they wanted out they needed to play a game James understood.
Now they were back in London, Sam and Declan needed to investigate exactly how Sir James Aiken was connected to the Alphabet Club. And to do that they would dig and find out just what went on when Sam was at Oxford, and what Sir James had done to stage-manage Sam’s future choices.
With just hand luggage Sam and Declan were soon in their SUV on the motorway into Central London. The memory key with James sex-tape was stored in Sam’s breast pocket. Sam was keen to get home to copy the compromising video and set his plan in motion to use it as leverage against his father. He reached out and put his hand on Declan’s. Declan took his eyes off the road for a moment and the look he gave Sam made him shudder. Even though Declan had taken a lot of punishment for this outcome, it was worth it. They held hands and reveled in the closeness.
“So, I was wonderin’” Declan began, sounding a little nervous.
“Yes?”
“Will… eh… Kitty ever be makin’ a visit?”
Sam laughed out loud. “You liked her, didn’t you?”
“Ye could say that!” Declan smirked remembering her long legs, soft Irish lilt, and the silky lingerie.
“Well, she tells me Dr. Hunter was a bit of a ruffian, but I’m sure she’d go on a date with you. If you plan something nice and treat her right!” Sam said a saucy tone to his voice.
Declan grinned rapaciously, his mind ticking over with ideas.
Sam’s phone buzzed with a text message, he was grinning as he palmed the phone. He read the message and stiffened. The playful atmosphere had turned to ice.
Sam are you back in the country? I’m at the house, something isn’t right and I can’t get through to dad. I don’t know what to do.
The plea came from the phone of Annabelle Aiken-Ramsay. He swiftly typed a reply and then said, “Step on it! That was Belle, there’s something wrong at HQ.”
Earlier that day they had received a notification to attend a debrief meeting at the Holland Park headquarters so they were expected in an hour anyway. Now they had no time to go home, change their clothes, or hide the compromising memory key.
Declan wound his way through the stop-start London traffic. When they arrived in Holland Park Declan drove slowly past the grand cream and white painted mansion house, and from appearances, didn’t notice anything amiss. Annabelle’s sporty red, Dacia Duster SUV was parked directly outside at the curb, but she was nowhere in sight. Declan rounded the corner into Abbotsbury Road and pulled to the curb. Sam keyed in the code to open the garage door so they could gain access to the subterranean garage.
Nothing happened.
“Did ye use the correct code?”
“Of course I did!” Sam sounded agitated.
“Mebe James changed it while we were away?”
“I would have received a text with an encrypted link. I didn’t get anything.” They both sat staring at the garage door as if they could make it move by will alone. “We’ll go in the front.” Sam decided.
Declan was first out of the car. It was a mild, blue-skied day, but strangely, the birds of Holland Park had fallen silent. Declan strode nonchalantly up the pathway toward the front steps of 16 Holland Park, the entrance was covered by an ornate awning of stained glass and wrought iron. Absently, Declan looked down, stopped in his tracks, and then threw an arm out to bring Sam to a halt. There were spots of red liquid on the sandstone pavers. The small droplets led to the black double front doors, one of which was ajar. Sam’s response was immediate and emotional. He lurched to shove past Declan, but Declan turned and put both hands on Sam’s shoulders.
“Wait!” Declan insisted.
“But—”
“No buts,” Declan said in a stern but gentle tone. “Let’s do this by the book, aye?” Declan turned and eyed the house again. There was no sign of movement inside, no staff readying lunch, and no hum of the lawnmower. Declan turned back to Sam and they gave each other a worried look. Then they seem to come to an unsaid agreement.
The men turned around and headed back down the path. As they walked Declan retrieved his phone and texted the words
Bravo, Bravo, Bravo, HQ
He sent the text to the A.L.L. emergency line. If they didn’t know already, now those working at the Heathrow storage unit understood that there was a serious security breach at the Holland Park headquarters.
While Declan kept watch in the quiet suburban street, Sam opened the boot of their SUV and then pressed down on what looked like a brand label for the vehicle. A section of false floor popped up. Sam swiftly detached it and then removed two concealed handguns, shoulder holsters, and Kevlar vests. He and Declan armed themselves.
Usually, there were lots of comings and goings at the house—a gardener attending to the front and back gardens daily, and a host of servant kept James home in sparkling order.
“It’s quiet, too fuckin’ quiet,” Declan said morosely. The sense of foreboding was a heavy weight in his chest. They cautiously made their way toward the front entrance again.
“Even the birds have stopped singing,” Sam said.
“Aye, I noticed that too.” They both had a gut feeling about the wrongness here but neither man would voice it. Not yet!
“I’ll go first”, Sam informed. “I’ll sweep the ground floor, you take upstairs.” Declan nodded, not minding Sam taking point, after all, he had years more experience.
Sam stepped forward to the black door with a stained glass inset. He edged one of the doors open with his foot. It moved slightly but there was a weight in the way. Leading with his gun Sam eased through the gap to see more droplets of blood. The drops trailed down the hall to the small bathroom. Sam discovered why he couldn’t open the door. Mr. Steel, the butler, was sprawled on the floor, a gunshot in his temple. Sam paused, scanned the hallway, and listened. He heard nothing and took a step back to tell Declan,
“We’ve been compromised. Mr. Steel is dead. I think someone else is injured. There’s blood leading to the WC.” Sam said in a low tone so only Declan could hear. Their eyes met and without words, they understood one another. Either Madsson had evaded his guards and escaped, or someone had broken in to get him out.
Sam stepped inside the hall, his gun at low ready. Declan had his back and together with their guns low and positioned to fire at any second, they made their way toward the small bathroom. As they moved in unison with every footstep they scanned and assessed their surroundings for danger. The bathroom door was ajar. Sam led with his firearm and nudged the door open. Looking in, he lowered the gun and let out the breath he’d been holding. Annabelle was sitting against the wall beside the small sink, her hands rested on her heavily pregnant belly. There was a puddle of blood around her groin soaking through her yellow summer dress. She looked dazed, and her face was puffy, and teary. She was staring into the distance and hadn’t yet noticed Sam. Her face suddenly contorted in anguish and she cried out as a contraction raged through her tiny frame.
“Belle!”
Shocked, Annabelle looked up at Sam with tear-filled eyes.
Sam lingered at the door numb and horrified by what he saw.
“What’s happened? Have you been shot?”
“She’s in labor,” Declan eased himself past and knelt at Annabelle’s side.
“How far apart are the contractions?” He asked in a hushed tone.
“Around t.. twenty minutes,” Belle said with a weak sob.
“Okay darlin’, there’s still plenty of time te get ye to hospital. You and yer wee girl are gonna be okay. Just keep doing the breathing exercises and we’ll see ye get some help.” Declan gentled, wiping Belle’s curls back from her sweaty brow.
“I want Oliver… where’s Oliver?” She keened. Calling Declan’s brother was not an option. This was a crime scene and what they had witnessed so far was just the tip of the iceberg.
Sam joined Declan at his sister’s side.
“What happened here?”
“Ohh, Sam.” Belle pulled her brother into a side hug. “I’m so glad to see you.” She erupted with wracking sobs.
As much as Sam wanted to comfort his sister he was aware of something very, very bad going on in the basement headquarters.
“What happened?” He asked again.
Belle told her tale haltingly between tears and gasps for breath.
“I was meeting Dad for lunch. I pulled up outside and was sitting in my car sending a text to Oli.” She began. “I saw a woman on the doorstep, dressed in black. I thought it was Akiko, but it couldn’t have been—” Belle said in a faraway voice.
“Akiko wouldn’t need to knock and she wouldn’t have—Oh, poor Mr. Steele…“ Belle burst into floods of tears. Sam laid a hand on his sister’s bump and started to rub her warm belly. He felt the baby kick.
