REVELATION: Book One of THE RECARN CHRONICLES (14 page)

The wood was surrounded by a
fence but it was a pathetic attempt at security if that was indeed
its purpose. Maurice climbed over it easily and head towards a
lake, whose waters glistened in the moonlight through the trees.
Once there, he looked around for a decent sized rock. It had to be
heavy enough that it would sink to the bottom of the lake but not
so heavy that Maurice with his athletic failings couldn’t throw it
a decent distance. There were plenty of small to medium-sized rocks
to choose from and it didn’t take him long to find the best one. He
wrapped the strap of the gas-mask around it and pulled the straps
tight. He then stuffed the balaclava between the strap and the rock
so that it couldn’t fall out.

“Please don’t let me down
now,” he whispered to himself as he launched the missile into the
air towards the centre of the lake. He felt a physical sigh of
relief as the rock and its cargo plunged into the lake, far from
the shoreline, and sank without a trace.

He still wasn’t far enough
away from the footballer’s house so he crossed the woodland and ran
towards where he hoped there would be another road. He hadn’t heard
any police sirens; that had to be a good sign. He was in luck and
found a main road. A few seconds after leaving the wood he had to
duck back inside as two police cars flashed by.

Once the coast was clear,
Maurice walked along the road in the direction of the town centre.
He was tempted to hide again when he saw more headlights
approaching. As luck would have it, the lights belonged to a taxi
with no passengers.

“May as well…” thought
Maurice as he flagged the car down. The car stopped and Maurice
slid into the back seat.

“Where to, mate?”

The cabbie was in a
remarkably cheery mood considering he was undoubtedly doing the
graveyard shift.

“Erm… the town centre,
somewhere near the bus station will do.”

“Righto!”

Maurice wondered if the cab
driver was at all curious as to why he was walking the streets at
that time of night but, in truth, the cabbie was just thankful to
pick up a fare and have someone to talk to for a few
minutes.

“You a Spurs fan
then?”

“Sorry?”

“Your bag. You a fan of
Spurs, The Lillywhites, The mighty Tottenham Hotspur
F.C.?”

“Um… Yes, I am.”

“Me too. And my old man. And
his old man before him. And the rest before him. Runs in the
family, it does.”

Maurice thought he’d better
chat with the driver. He didn’t want to be memorable because he was
rude.

“My dad didn’t like
football. I don’t really know how I got into it, but I’ve always
loved Spurs.”

“Nah? My dad loved it.
Reckoned Spurs never looked back after they stopped sacking
managers every six months. That Argentinian geezer, Pochettino. He
liked him. My dad was at the old White Hart Lane – I can’t remember
who against – when a young Argentinian kid, Lamela his name was,
did summat called a Rabona and scored a brilliant goal. I’ve no
idea what a Rabona is or was, but my old man never forgot it. Said
it was a once in a lifetime thing to see live.”

The car was cruising through
the town centre, about half a mile from the bus station. Maurice
leaned towards the seat in front of him.

“This’ll do.
Thanks.”

“Sure thing
mate.”

The cab stopped and Maurice
paid the driver.

“Keep the
change.”

“Thanks mate.”

Just as Maurice started to
walk away from the car, the driver called after him. Maurice
froze.

“Oi, mate?”

Maurice turned
around.

“Yes?”

“Come on you Spurs,
eh?”

Maurice fist-pumped the air,
rather half-heartedly.

“Yeah, come on you
Spurs.”

It was now about three
forty-five in the morning. In the last two hours or so Maurice had
left his wife sleeping in her bed, driven off with three
professional criminals and killed a man. Oh, and he mustn’t forget
the small matter of stealing one million pounds. A wave of sadness
washed over him as it suddenly dawned on him that he may never see
his wife again. He may never see his children again. But Caitlin
would be saved. He was suddenly jolted back to reality by the
realization that he had to get the money to the doctor as soon as
possible. He had to come up with a plan.

Across the street was a
small hotel. It didn’t look particularly luxurious but Maurice
wasn’t interested in the quality of the place; what was more
important was that it was open 24/7. He crossed the now deserted
street and pushed open the door. A buzzer sounded as he
entered.

A rather grizzled looking
man with a head that seemed too big for his body looked up from a
book he was reading.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes please. I’d like a room
please.”

“That’s generally what
people want when they come in here, sir… this being a hotel and
all.”

“Quite.”

“How many nights,
sir?”

“One. I think. Maybe two. No
more than that.”

“Cash or credit card,
sir?”

Normally Maurice would have
paid by credit card but he’d seen enough movies to know that he
shouldn’t leave a digital trail behind him.

“Cash please.”

“Wise move, sir. Wise move.
10% discount for cash.”

“Nice.”

“Just place your thumb over
this small area of glass please, sir.”

“Um… pardon?”

“Place your right thumb over
this small area of glass please, sir. It’s the law now.”

This was new to Maurice. He
hadn’t stayed in a hotel for some time now, but he’d never had to
have his fingerprint read before when checking in.

“Really? Since
when?”

“Since six months ago, sir.
Helps the government keep track of people. Of course, if you’d
rather not, you could always pay a 250% surcharge on the room. No
questions asked, sir.”

Under the circumstances,
Maurice didn’t think that was too bad a deal. He could easily
afford it anyway.

“Yes. OK. I’ll pay the
surcharge.”

“Very good sir. You’d be
surprised to know how many people prefer to pay the
surcharge.”

The big-headed man took a
sheet of film that was just like the film that Manfred had used to
gain entry into Christian Parks’s house a few hours
earlier.

“My name is…”

The big-headed man
interrupted him.

“I know your name, sir.
You’re a twenty-seven year old Indian pharmaceutical sales
representative named Tuhina Kapoor. Ma’am.”

“Oh…. OK. If you say so. I
guess that’s who I am.”

“You’re welcome,
ma’am.”

The big-headed man enjoyed
seeing his guests’ faces when he suddenly gave them a digital
sex-change. It brightened up his otherwise boring nights. He handed
Maurice his card-key.”

“Room 201, ma’am. Second
floor. Enjoy your stay.”

Maurice dragged his tired
bones up the stairs and headed towards his room. He slid his
cardkey into its slot and the door to room 201 opened with an
audible click.

The room wasn’t too bad. It
had the usual conveniences; en-suite bathroom, satellite TV, a
double bed, and a communications desk with free internet access.
The place was better than it had looked from the outside. It wasn’t
luxurious but it was certainly comfortable enough for the one or
two nights that he’d be staying.

The screen above the
communications desk suddenly emitted a buzzing noise. Maurice
pressed a button on the bedside table and an image of the reception
desk flickered into life. The big-headed man moved into
view.

“Miss Kapoor. I have a call
for you.”

Maurice had no idea who it
could be. Nobody knew he was there. He was worried. Who the hell
could be calling him in the early hours of the morning?

“Who is it?”

“It’s the
Businessman.”

Of course. He was bound to
know that Maurice was there. He was like Big Brother. So, it was no
coincidence that both Manfred and the big-headed man had access to
the same technology.

“I can hardly say no to him,
can I?”

“Not really, sir. No. It’s
not advisable. Not if you know what’s good for you”

The image on the screen was
replaced by the silhouette of the Businessman.

“Good morning, Mr.
Boone.”

“Good morning,
sir.”

“I see there was a spot of
trouble with the operation tonight. An almighty cock-up in
fact.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well. It’s done now. No
point in crying over spilt milk. Or dead footballers. Though it
would have made things a lot easier if you hadn’t killed
him.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Well, Mr. Boone. What are
we going to do with you? Eh?”

Maurice knew that he was way
out of his depth.

“I don’t know
sir.”

“Luckily, I do know. You are
going to go downstairs to reception. You are going to give the sum
of seven hundred and ninety-three thousand pounds to Charles, our
mutual friend at the reception desk.”

“
Seven hundred
and
ninety
-three thousand pounds?”

“Yes. Seven hundred and
ninety-three thousand pounds. Ten thousand pounds is a gratuity to
Charles for helping you out of your predicament. Charles will, in
turn, make an electronic transfer to Doctor Stefansson as full
payment for your daughter’s surgery, which will take place a matter
of hours after the funds are received. The replacement organ is
being prepared as we speak. Later today your wife will be informed
of two things. Firstly, that your daughter’s treatment has been
paid for, so she need no longer worry about that. Secondly, that
you have been killed in a car crash, been burnt beyond recognition
in the ensuing fire and that you loved her very much. We’ll do our
best to be tactful”

Maurice didn’t like the
sound of that. It didn’t sound very tactful to him.

“What’s going to happen to
me?”

“You’re going to disappear.
Without a trace, in fact. Although, of course, I will always know
your whereabouts. That goes without saying. I know where everyone
is. Well, almost everyone.”

“Thank you sir. May I ask…
why are you doing this for me?”

“Mr. Boone. I’m not some
kind of monster. I rather like you. And I sympathise with your
daughter’s predicament. I too, had lifesaving surgery at her age.
Now, goodnight Mr. Boone.”

Maurice wasn’t comfortable.
He knew that if something looked too good to be true, then it
usually was. The Businessman must have a reason for helping
him.

He went downstairs and did
as the Businessman had said, paying Charles the sum of seven
hundred and ninety-three thousand pounds in cash. He had no choice
but to trust the man. He went back to his room and lay on his
bed.

“At least Caitlin will be OK
now,” he thought.

A month later, Karen Boone was struggling to
hold her life together. On the one hand, her daughter, Caitlin, was
recovering well after her kidney transplant but on the other hand
she was now a widow with two young daughters. A mystery benefactor
had paid for Caitlin’s surgery and she wanted to find the man or
woman and give them a big hug but nobody would tell her the
identity of her daughter’s savior. She would be financially sound –
one thing that Maurice had insisted upon paying, whether they could
afford it or not, were the life-insurance policies. At least she
had enough to keep her head above water. The bills were being paid,
she had no financial pressure at the moment, and Caitlin was back
at home. The family was reunited except for one important member.
She wanted her husband back, but she knew that that was never going
to happen, in this life or any other future life. Neither Maurice
nor she had any memory of their previous lives and so she had to
accept the fact that she would never see her beloved husband again,
ever. Of course, Maurice would be reborn, but he would have no
recollection whatsoever of his previous family, so a knock on the
door in twenty or so years’ time would not be the new incarnation
of her husband, come to be reunited with the love of his life.

Meanwhile, Maurice was living alone in a
seaside town, in the southwest of England, doing his best to not
spend every waking moment missing his family. When he did manage to
gain a few minutes respite from the aching pain of separation he
was tortured by the reality that he had cut short the life of a
human being who had never done him any wrong, bar play for the
wrong football team.

The Businessman had set him up with another
new identity which, although he was obviously grateful, was
worrying Maurice. The Businessman was too helpful.