REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES (13 page)

“I don’t need a gun do
I?”

“Depends if you want to risk
being killed. If you are killed, we would be entitled to take your
share of the money. I’m not saying we would – we know why you’re
doing this, and we understand your dilemma – but we would be
entitled to.”

Maurice had fired an
obsolete SLR assault weapon once at a history exhibition but he
didn’t like the idea of firing a real weapon away from the confines
of a secure and martialled environment. The only other weapons he
ever fired were those connected to video games. However, he could
see the benefit of carrying one tonight – he needed to be alive to
get the money to the Norwegian doctor. If he died so would his
daughter. And even if he had to shoot someone, they’d only be
knocked unconscious for a couple of hours, they wouldn’t
die.

“It’s fitted with an
automated external cleaning system so that if you drop it and leave
it behind at the crime scene, there’ll be no fingerprints or DNA
samples that the police can take off it. But you’re not going to
drop it, are you Maurice? These little beauties are pretty
expensive.”

“I’ll do my best not
to.”

“Now, press the red button
once for ‘off’, twice for ‘stun’, and three times for… well, you
get the picture. They’re all set at ‘off’ for now. When we get
there we’ll set them to ‘stun’. Understood?”

Maurice nodded.

Thirty minutes later the
SUVs pulled up in a layby close to Cristian Parks’s large house.
The group of four quickly dressed themselves in black jumpsuits,
covering their faces with black gas-masks, and donned with night
vision goggles. Maurice felt quite excited. He’d never done
anything like this before; it was kind of exhilarating. Manfred
went over the plan, a repetition for the other two members of the
team, but it was the first time that Maurice had heard
it.

“Right. So you all know what
you have to do? “

Manfred’s colleagues nodded.
Maurice was confused.

“What do you want me to
do?”

“You, Maurice, are
essentially a passenger. You do nothing except pack your holdall
with one million pounds in cash, come back to the cars, jump in one
of them and then we all drive off. We’ll drop you off near your
house and you’ll never see or hear from us again. You pay for your
daughter’s treatment, my colleagues and I are each a million pounds
richer, everybody’s happy.”

The group edged their way
silently to the main gate of the house, each man with a holdall
slung over his back. Manfred took something from the side pocket of
his holdall.

“What’s that?” Maurice
whispered.

“Our key. Stop asking
questions and keep quiet.”

Manfred had in his hand a
pad of small transparent sheets. Each sheet contained a DNA sample
from Christian Parks. The Businessman was very thorough. He didn’t
have DNA samples from everybody in London but he did have samples
from anybody of interest to him - rich people. His supply network
spread far and wide and he now had at his disposal a veritable
cornucopia of useful DNA and fingerprint samples. Manfred pressed
the first sheet onto the receptor of the gate’s entry system and
the gate swung open. Once the group was through, Manfred closed the
gates in the same way.

“Now we’ll see how awake his
security men are.”

No guards came to
investigate the initial intrusion of the four masked men. So far,
so good, although Maurice thought it strange that they hadn’t been
detected yet; surely a house like this would have cameras all over
the place? Five seconds later he discovered why there was no flurry
of activity. Two large Dobermanns came running around the corner of
the building. Maurice wasn’t a great dog lover; he was even wary of
small dogs and these two cousins of the hounds of the Baskervilles
made him very nervous indeed. They certainly weren’t there to chase
sticks or play ball.

“Shit!”

“\Shut up Maurice. I’ve got
this.”

Manfred reached into his
pocket and the dogs stopped sharp in their tracks, before settling
down to sleep. Unknown to Maurice, Manfred had triggered a high
frequency note that was inaudible to humans but could be heard by
the dogs and had knocked the animals out cold. The group moved
silently forward and hid behind two large ornamental garden
pots.

“Right,” said Manfred.
They’ll have seen that the dogs are no longer a threat to us, so
expect to see armed guards arrive any second. We’ll wait here and
take them out. There’s a total of ten of them, but I doubt that
they’ll send them all to investigate simultaneously.”

“How do you know there’s ten
guards?” asked Maurice.

“The Businessman. That’s all
you need to know.”

Sure enough, three guards
made their way out into the open, scanning the garden gingerly with
their guns. Maurice had no idea what he was supposed to do; should
he shoot them? Then he remembered that Manfred had basically told
him not to interfere and decided to let his colleagues deal with
the situation. He heard nothing but he saw three pulses of orange
light leave the barrels of his accomplices and pound the security
guards squarely on the chest. The guards were now just like the
dogs; unconscious on the lawn.

Manfred gestured to the
other three that they should move forward and all four darted
towards the door of the main house. Maurice had learned his lesson;
he kept his mouth shut and let the others get on with what they
were doing.

They were by a large plate
glass door. Manfred tossed two aerosol cans to his colleagues and
they began to spray the glass with a white foam. Maurice was agog
to see what would happen next. Five seconds later the glass began
to melt before his very eyes.

Manfred whispered to his
wide-eyed passenger.

“A few more seconds and
we’ll be able to just walk into the house. And before you ask… yes,
a silent alarm will have been tripped alerting the local police.
But don’t worry, they won’t be responding. Not yet,
anyway.”

“The
Businessman?”

Maurice was beginning to
think that the answer to half his questions would be just those two
words.

“The
Businessman.”

The four of them stepped
through the space where the window used to be. Manfred pointed to a
door at the far end of the corridor.

“That’s where the vault is.
Looks like any other internal door of the house but it isn’t a
normal door. Opens only when the DNA of Christian Parks is applied
simultaneously to two sensor pads. Anyone else tries to open it and
they’ll get fried by a high-voltage charge surging through their
body. Fortunately, I’ve got loads of the guy’s DNA at my disposal.
Wayne and Craig will keep an eye on the corridor and the garden.
The guards will have realised we’re inside the house by now, so,
Maurice, when the vault door is open, I’ll call you in and you can
pack that Tottenham Hotspur sports bag with enough money to save
your little girl.”

Manfred casually walked up
to the door and Wayne and Craig took up their positions, watching
for any sign of the security staff. The leader of this little crew
of thieves opened up his pad of DNA samples.

There were two dull thuds
behind them as a couple of security men fell to the floor, rendered
unconscious by the beam of orange light that had been fired from
Wayne’s pulse-gun. He raised his hand, gesturing that five of the
security staff had now been dealt with, before quickly readjusting
that figure to eight as Craig dispatched three more security guards
to the land of slumber.

“They don’t seem to be
trying very hard to stop us,” whispered Maurice, as the vault door
swung open.

“That’s ‘cos they’re not,”
grinned Manfred. “They’re giving just enough resistance so that the
insurance company won’t get suspicious and reject the claim that
Parks will no doubt file. It’s more or less a victimless crime. The
other two won’t bother us now.”

He beckoned Wayne, Craig and
Maurice to enter the vault.

“Right. Four piles. A
million quid in each of them. Fill your bags and then let’s get out
of here.”

Maurice threw his holdall on
the floor next to the right-hand pile of money, almost ripping the
zipper as he scooped the bundles of notes into the bag. The others
did the same but with less panic; they were old hands at this type
of thing.

“Everybody ready? Good.
Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The group, each one with a
bag containing at least one million pounds slung over his back, ran
through the space where the window had once been and sprinted
towards the gate. Maurice, not being as fit as the other three,
lagged a little behind.

“Oi! What the fuck do you
think you’re doing?”

The more experienced and
better-trained men continued running, but Maurice had been
startled. He turned round to see the shock of platinum hair that
crowned the head of the homeowner. It was such a stupid haircut
that it couldn’t be anyone else other than Christian Parks standing
on the lawn, staring right at him.

“I said, what the fuck do
you think you’re doing? And where the fuck are my security guards?
And my fucking dogs?”

Panic surged through
Maurice’s veins. He wasn’t cut out to be a criminal. He raised his
pulse-gun. It would be alright… Christian Parks would be
unconscious for a couple of hours. No harm done. He pulled the
trigger and the footballer collapsed like a half-empty sack of
potatoes.

Wayne and Craig had been
watching the scene unfold as Manfred used his DNA samples to open
the gates again. Wayne stood with his mouth open, unable to speak.
Craig broke the silence.

“Boss. We’ve got a
problem.”

“What problem?”

“I think he’s, I think
he’s……”

Wayne cut in…

“That twat has only gone and
killed the gooner.”

“You’re joking.”

“The light was red. The
pulse was red. It was red wasn’t it Craig? I didn’t imagine it, did
I mate?”

“Nah. it was red
alright.”

Manfred’s face turned as red
as the pulse beam from Maurice’s weapon.

“I told the Businessman not
to let the accountant have a gun. I told him. He’s a pen-pusher I
said.”

He walked up to Maurice and
looked him straight in the eye, wrenching the pulse gun from his
grasp.

“If it weren’t for the fact
that I have a young daughter myself, I’d kill you right here and
now, you fucking wanker. But your little girl doesn’t deserve to
die just ‘cos you can’t follow simple instructions. If it weren’t
for her I’d fucking kill you and take your share of the money. Why
the hell do you think it was so easy? Everyone was in on it. The
only one who didn’t know was the footballer. And he wasn’t even
supposed to be there. The guards knew nobody would get killed. Well
that went tits up didn’t it! A nice easy job, a stroll in the park,
and then the fucking footballer has to come home early! And on top
of that, you get trigger happy. I fucking told the Businessman not
to let you have a gun, but he insisted. You’re a fucking idiot!
Come on… let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Craig, Wayne, and Maurice
started to run towards the waiting cars. Manfred grabbed Maurice by
the arm and poked him in the chest with his pulse-gun.

“Not you, Jesse James.
You’re on your own. My advice to you is to get the money to the
doctor and fuck off far away from here. Go wherever the fuck you
want – but you’re not coming with us. Save the girl and – if you’re
lucky – save yourself. We all get reincarnated but murder is still
murder, and the cops will still investigate. Especially when the
victim is rich.”

With that, the three thieves
trotted back to the cars, Manfred all the while training his
pulse-gun on the hapless Maurice, who could only stand and watch as
the rear lights of the vehicles faded into the distance.

Maurice was lost. Not only
physically, but emotionally and mentally. He had never even hurt
anyone before, not really, not deliberately. But now he had killed
someone. He was sure he’d set the pulse-gun to stun, but there was
a dead footballer laying on the lawn that testified to the
contrary. He tried to gather his thoughts, but one thing was
certain… he couldn’t stay where he was. The police would be on
their way soon, expecting to find a crime-scene for sure, but one
where the only loss was financial. They were required to attend for
the insurance company to make good Christian Parks’s financial loss
and they were only expecting to find several immobilized security
guards and several million pounds missing from the safe. They were
certainly not expecting to find a dead footballer.

A dog barked in the distance
and forced Maurice to remember that now wasn’t the time for
procrastination. He was on foot and had to get as far away from the
crime scene as possible and as quickly as possible. He ripped off
his gas-mask and balaclava and stuffed them into his holdall, on
top of the million pounds in crisp new notes. Which way to run? At
first he didn’t think it made much difference until he noticed that
there was a wooded area. That would give him some cover. That would
be the best idea. Get off the road and into some kind of cover. He
started running, the holdall knocking against his hip as he ran.
Without breaking step he slung the strap of the bag over his
shoulder and adjusted the buckle to make it shorter and the bag
less awkward.