Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) (23 page)

*

Tina Turner wakes me. I grab my phone from beside the bed. My knuckles still throb from my wall punching. It is the counterfeiter known only as Saturn.

“Your passport and papers are ready,” he says.

I blink my eyelids to bring the room into focus. “When can I get them?”

“They are behind your hotel reception desk.”

Of course, he wouldn’t take on my work without knowing where I was staying. They say he is the best and so far I’m impressed. Now I can book the plane tickets. There is nothing like good news to awaken the mind.

“Good,” I say.

“Are we agreed that our transaction is at a close?”

What an odd man. “Yes,” I agree.

“Then I bid you great success.”

I don’t know how to reply and so I end the call. The news of a trip will excite Sasha. She has hardly travelled and will be keen to keep me happy when I spring the good news on her. No more council house for her. I check the time. It is just before 8:30 P.M. I have slept for over three hours. The time is perfect to call my sister. This call will be the best yet. Tina Turner shrieks out again. Why did I choose such a grating tune? Black speaks. His voice is slow and slurred.

“My friend. I have more gold.”

“Are you drugged up?”

“I have more gold,” he repeats.

I want nothing to do with him in this state but time is dwindling. “Pull yourself together.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m okay... The girl will be at an office in Twickenham tomorrow morning.”

I catch my breath. This is what I’ve been waiting for. “And?” I say.

“Two... two thousand.”

I’ll have left the country in two days’ time. I can promise anything. “Okay. Where?”

“Opposite the rail station. Justice Investigations.”

I am back in the game. The gun will soon be mine.

“When can ... I collect...” Black jibbers.

I end the call.

Everything is now in my grasp. Nothing can stand in my way. Revenge, love and a new life are within touching distance. I steady my breathing before calling Sasha. I make myself comfortable on the bed and unzip my trousers.

She knows it’s me. “Yes?”

“I have good news.”

“You’re not going to call anymore?”

She is often sarcastic and I don’t take offence. “We’re going on a trip.” The call goes quiet. “I said we’re going on a trip.” I can hear her breathing. I wish I could feel her breath in my ear.

“You agreed that we didn’t have to see each other ... that we’d keep it to the phone calls.”

“Yes, but this is a new life in Australia. I have a new passport. No one will know we’re related. We can live as a couple.” I can picture her elated face even though I haven’t seen it in over twenty-five years.

“You’ll hurt me just like Dad used to.”

It is a slap in the face. “I’m not Dad. He did things to me too. Don’t you remember?”

“You’ve become just like him. Ever since we’ve been in touch again, you’ve got worse.”

“I thought you loved me.”

“You’re my brother. Of course I love you. But not like that. It’s not right.”

“We used to ... when Dad made us.”

“Yes!” she screamed. “Because he made us!”

She needs time to digest the news. The excitement is too much for her. “I’ve been getting counselling. My therapist says it’s not my fault and I’m going to get better.”

“Are you still seeing him?”

“It’s a her.”

“Her then?”

“Yes,” I lie. I just need to get her to Australia and then everything will work itself out. She just needs a little push.

“And you won’t touch me?”

“No.”

“Not ever?”

“I promise. Think of a beautiful house with a swimming pool. It will be fantastic.” I picture the bedroom. She is wearing white stockings and nothing else. She’s been bad.

The line goes quiet again. “Sasha?”

“Prove it,” she says.

“What?”

“Hang up now without making me say stuff to you.”

“But?”

“Hang up now and I’ll go with you if you promise to continue therapy.”

The bigger picture. Think of the bigger picture. “I’ll need your passport details to book the tickets.”

“I’ll text them when you hang up.”

My mind spins. I stand up and lean against the wall for support. The change of position does not dampen my desire. I want her filthy whispers in my ear. I can’t end the call.

“Do it Gregory or I’m staying.”

I place my thumb on the red ‘end call’ button but I can’t press it. My whole body tenses like a statue. I must end the call. Why is it so hard? Finally my left hand presses my right thumb and the call ends. I did it. Five minutes later the phone vibrates and I have Sasha’s passport details.

I think of our new life together and what we will do once she comes around to my way of thinking. When I orgasm, it is the best ever. It is a climax of victory.

21: Sunday 25th September, 21:25

The SAS’s Eurocopter Dauphin was indeed dolphin-like in shape, except in place of the dorsal fin sat a bulbous hump from which the four main blades sprouted. The agents had not spoken a word during the fifty minute journey from RAF Northolt. It was just as well the helicopter had cut more than two hours off the time it would have taken to drive.

Wilson had been glad of the peace that their silence provided, taking the opportunity to stare into the darkness of night and trickle charge his failing batteries. This assignment had been the toughest he could remember in his seventeen years with Earthguard. He was no longer the energetic and hardened soul who joined the anti-terrorist organisation at the age of thirty. But then he was hardly the man of even four months ago. It was a good change.

He glanced over to his partner and boss who keenly eyed the pilot’s use of the vast array of controls. The man virtually hummed with energy. Never before had their thirteen year age gap seemed as obvious as it did at that moment.

Wilson had clearly lost Johnson’s trust. But it didn’t matter anymore. After this assignment, if they still had jobs, Wilson would request a new partner. After that he would request a leave of absence and spend every day of it with his daughter, Kate. She was stubborn but he could be worse. He would refuse to meet her rent payments any longer unless she went to church every day with him. Kate would have no choice and from there it would be a small step to enter into the church’s family counselling program.

It comforted him to think that Julie was in a peaceful place. She had been a good woman and deserved better from him. He could make it up to her by rescuing their daughter and sharing Julie’s faith that he and Kate had ridiculed. He didn’t know why it all made such sense suddenly, but he knew it was all thanks to Savannah. By trying to help him without an ulterior motive, she had shown him the light. Kate was going to have a fit, but they’d get through it together.

Wilson looked down to see the lights of the helipad on the south side of RHQ Credenhill SAS barracks as they neared their landing. The surrounding unspoiled countryside was bathed in the light of an almost full moon and seemed an unlikely setting for the small band of specialist armed forces. There had been a time when he was younger, in his late teens, when such a vista would have lifted his spirits and revitalised his resolve, but not anymore, and certainly not tonight. There was too much to get through before he could appreciate the future beyond this assignment. He had hope now, but there was a way to go before hope translated into reality.

The rest of the looming site consisted of nine large, uniform, rectangular barracks adjacent to the helipad, mostly unoccupied empty fields in the centre of the site and some twenty odd further buildings to the North which included the ‘H’ shaped head office where they would carry out their interviews.

This was the agent’s first visit to the home of the 22nd Regiment since it moved from Hereford in May 1999. As they disembarked from the sleek-lined helicopter, Wilson was once again amazed by the lack of substantial noise from the engine and blades. This smooth and stealthy bird, capable of speeds of almost 200 miles per hour, would have looked more at home on top of a corporate skyscraper than here at the headquarters of the most elite regiment of soldiers in the world. Like the peaceful countryside harboured men trained in the art of killing, so the friendly dolphin shape hid its deadly capabilities.

A cold wind had picked up and the air was damp with imminent rain. Savannah might laugh at their antiquated-style coats, but they kept the cold at bay. What he’d have given to have been blessed with a daughter like her. But girls like Savannah were one in a million and came with losers for fathers. Nature was messed up.

A staff car met the agents on the helipad, and they were greeted with great formality and zero courtesy. Their visit was not a welcome one. Even less was known publicly about Earthguard than the SAS, and when orders were issued from the very top of government to provide full disclosure to international outsiders, it didn’t go down well at Credenhill. Wilson had seen it all before. Every security agency and special fighting unit in the world believed that they had earned special treatment. It went with the territory.

Four minutes and three ninety-degree turns later, Johnson and Wilson were inside the expansive head office building. Their escort departed with a salute, leaving them with the squadron leader outside his office door. Major Harris greeted the agents with a single nod, about faced and re-entered his office. The uniformed man was a couple of inches shorter than Johnson and had most of the typical army-ingrained traits: slim but solid, stiff as a board, unnaturally upright, permanently aggressive expression and not at all pleased to see them.

“I’d say welcome to you both but you’d know I was lying,” Major Harris said, sitting behind his black metal desk which was clear but for a flat computer screen and wireless keyboard. A framed picture of a younger Harris meeting the Queen and Prince Philip hung behind the officer, telling Wilson that it was for the benefit of visitors rather than his own enjoyment. Wilson looked behind to see what, if anything, the Major stared at for inspiration when he wasn’t planning rescue missions or assaults deep into enemy territory. The wall was bare, which probably said more about the man than any piece of art or photograph could.

Strangely, the Major’s stiffness appeared to ease somewhat as he sat back in his chair, as though he felt more in control behind the desk. Maybe he had a gun pointed at them from under it? Nothing in this job surprised Wilson anymore. The open hostility was not new ground for the agents. As protocol dictated, Johnson spoke first, toning down his crass American accent for once.

“We appreciate your discomfort at our invasion into your privacy, Major. We will endeavour to make this whole process as quick and as unobtrusive as possible.”

The Major rubbed his chin, his small predator-like eyes analysing Johnson from head to toe. He made no offer of a place for the agents to sit. “You’re Johnson, the American, aren’t you?” It was rhetorical and Johnson, as was typical, showed no reaction.

Johnson indicated to his partner with his right hand. “This is Agent Max Wilson. He will be interviewing you while I start on the list of those that worked or socialised most closely with our man. How many are we looking at?”

Wilson was shocked. He couldn’t believe that Johnson would let him interview the Major. It was completely outside of protocol. Johnson must be feeling the pressure. This was a blatant disregard for Earthguard procedure. Did he still trust him? What was his agenda?

“I was led to believe that you, as senior agent, would be interviewing me,” Major Harris said, leaning forward in his chair, stiffness returning to his body.

“And why was that?”

“Because I talked to your controller less than three hours ago.”

Johnson’s face hid the surprise well, but his words were less successful. “You spoke with our Controller?”

“Yes, that surprises you, doesn’t it?” Harris said, sitting back again. “Would it also surprise you that I know him by name?”

It did surprise Johnson, which was a rare event indeed. It wasn’t his face, which was as inscrutable as ever, but the lack of his partner’s immediate response that told Wilson he was just as taken aback as he was. Neither partner had access to the identity of their controller, knowing him only by a number. In fact, given that their only voice contact was electronically disguised, they couldn’t be certain that it was a man at all.

“If you have spoken to our controller, then I’m sure he has informed you that how I operate is dependent upon how I see the circumstances. It is clear to me, Major Harris, that you have an issue with my heritage, and therefore I believe that matters would be expedited if you were interviewed by a fellow countryman.”

There was no argument over protocol or procedure. This was little more than a pissing contest. Playing the racist card was genius but so unlike Johnson. Earlier he’d been treating John Smith like a son in need of fatherly direction and now this. What was he playing at? Perhaps this assignment had been getting to Johnson too. He just didn’t show any physical signs.

“If you have access to our controller, we can leave the room while you talk to him,” continued Johnson. “I’m sure that he’ll confirm that what I say is true.”

Johnson was calling the Major’s bluff.

The Major grumbled something into his hand.

“I’m sorry, Major. I didn’t quite catch that,” Johnson said, taking a step forward, giving his stream of piss a couple of extra feet.