The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (40 page)

Straub looked us over one more time, and nodded to herself, as if to say
Well, here we go.
She had her own headset on now, and spoke into it.

“Civilian team entering the premises. All units stand by.” Then, to us: “In your own time, gentlemen. Good luck.”

We began to walk towards the house, to the left-hand-side front window, as instructed. I glanced over my shoulder, to see Straub holding up a set of what I assumed were infrared or heat vision goggles, and a soldier lying on top of the APC sighting through a scoped rifle. I assumed it had a last-ditch tranquiliser dart inside it in case something went wrong; even though they didn’t want to use it, they would take the shot if necessary. I shuddered, and turned back to the house, where Paul stood a foot or two in front, holding out his hand behind him. I wondered what the hell he was doing, and then I remembered the setup; I took his hand, and at that moment Paul jumped backwards dramatically, acting like he’d seen something in front of him.

“
Jesus!
” he shouted. “Keep up, Andy, for fuck’s sake! It’s closer than I thought! Concentrate, will you?” He was damn good.

“Sorry,” I muttered, and followed Paul’s lead as he instructed me to get shoulder to shoulder so that we could ‘move at the same time’. This also helped keep us both upright, as we were going to need to save our minimal remaining strength to get in through the window. In this fashion we pantomimed our way towards the house, bodies tense and radiating fear as we acted as if we were dancing through a moving minefield. I think we were both aware of the need to keep it realistic, but also to not take too much time about it; we’d taken up an extra ten minutes since Paul’s first charade as it was. It worked, either way. At one point, when we made a sudden leap in unison, I heard several of the soldiers behind us jump slightly back. I couldn’t blame them. We’d made a real meal out of this.

Eventually we reached the window, and as Paul took out the glass cutter, he spoke into the mouthpiece.

“Perimeter cleared,” he said, “attempting to enter the premises. Commencing cutting procedure … now.”

Despite the situation, I raised an eyebrow at him and smirked slightly.

He looked at me for a second, and then shrugged in a
Well, I don’t know, do I
kind of way, then carried on cutting the pane. After a minute or two, he’d sliced a square in it large enough for even his bulk to squeeze through. Fortunately, this time he knocked the bottom of the pane inwards so that the top of it fell outwards, dropping onto the path and not leaving a minefield of glass inside, like at Patrick’s. I lunged—or rather, wobbled—forward as it fell, and actually managed to catch it. I don’t know why I bothered; I just felt like any sudden noises might affect the situation. I propped the cut section of the pane against the outside of the house—the building was old and single glazed—and knelt down, lacing my fingers together for Paul’s foot. I took a deep breath, and nodded at Paul. He gave me the thumbs-up, and put his boot on my palms.

“Commencing …” began Paul, and then he caught my eye. “Ah, going in now,” he said quickly, and pulled himself through the frame. It took him several breathless attempts, but he eventually made it halfway in. He managed to prop himself up on the way through, pushing past the drawn blind and using some unseen object just inside the window (at one point his weakened arms nearly gave way, but he managed to save himself) and then stood, turning around to face me and reaching his arms out. Taking his hands, I weakly fumbled my way up and inside as well, and then stage one was complete.

“We’re inside,” I said into the headset mic, taking in my surroundings. The room was dark, very dark, so much so that it was hard to see, but it was clearly a room that hadn’t changed for some time. The amount of clutter was immense; cabinets filled with unseen ornaments, and silhouettes of large pot plants that stood out against the few sources of light that were peeking through the drawn curtains. Ferns, miniature palms. Any available surface had bric-a-brac on it, and the wallpaper was some kind of darkened pattern that I couldn’t make out. Unlike Patrick’s, however, it didn’t smell. The surfaces all appeared to be clear, and if there was leftover food lying around, we couldn’t smell it.

The object by the window that Paul had used to prop himself was an ancient TV—like Patrick's, it was turned off at the moment—and this was facing a large armchair on the other side of the room. In the armchair, sitting upright, was the dim shape of Williams, Henry P., aged seventy-three, widower of Williams, Mildred R.

In the dark, we couldn’t see if his eyes were open, but we could hear him breathing; he was taking slow, deep, but trembling breaths. Maybe he was asleep after all? But before anything else, I had to know what going on with Paul. I was in deep enough already without going blindly into even murkier depths. I’d let Paul put me in harm’s way, however unlikely, and worse, I knew that I could end up being shafted for treason. I put my hand over the microphone, which I knew would probably cause noise on the other end, but I thought at least Straub and company couldn’t see me do it.

“
What the hell is all this about?
” I half-mouthed, half-whispered. Paul turned to me and covered his own mouthpiece, holding up his free hand in an attempt to let me know he was sorry.

“
I’m sorry, Andy, honestly,”
he said quickly, using the same barely audible voice, but his eyes were boring into mine with great intensity. “
But could
you
do it? Could you let them storm in here like a goddamn drugs raid?
”

“
What?
” I asked, confused, but glancing at the shape in the chair, half expecting this elderly man to get up and charge at us, fingers drawn into hooks that were aiming for our eyes.

“
We
owe
these people this much,”
whispered Paul.
“Just, just a
chance
at going out with some dignity. Those assholes out there would kick the fucking door in, sling him over their shoulders and bundle him into the back of the van!”
He shook his head at the thought, his jaw grinding. “
One way or the other, this poor bastard is going to
die
for this country, whether he likes it or not. And we’re the gun dogs that led the lynch mob to him. Okay, I get that, it has to be done. But I’ll be
damned
if I’m going to let them drag him out into the street without at least giving him a
chance
to walk out of their own accord. I can’t fucking sleep as it is, Andy! I can’t sleep! I keep seeing …”
He stopped, his eyes wide and pleading, and then held up his free hand, taking a deep breath and looking at the floor. “
You understand. Tell me you understand
.”

I stared at him, wondering if I actually did, but Straub’s interruption over the headsets saved me.

“Pointer, Winter, report. What are you doing? What is the situation?”

“We’re just checking the immediate area, Brigadier,” replied Paul, his eyes now back on mine. “Just checking that we’re okay to proceed, so we don’t run into any other unpleasant surprises.”

“All right. Proceed with caution, but also with efficiency. Can you see the target?”

“We can,” I replied, “I don’t know if he’s—”

“I can ... hear you, you know,” came the voice from the darkness, and we both jumped back a foot with fright. The voice had been clear, but also breathy and trembling, like that of a man having to exercise extreme physical control. It was the voice of a man making a great, taxing effort.

“We’ve … we’ve made contact,” said Paul, trying to compose himself, hard enough in this new situation even without our nerves already being on fire.

“Roger that,” said Straub, “Proceed then, gentlemen. The clock is now ticking. They’ve—” And she broke off, as if she was hesitating to tell us something.

“What was that, Brigadier?” I asked, pushing the headphones against my ears. Straub paused for a second, and I could hear her sigh.

“They’ve started to walk,” she said, quietly. “This needs wrapping up, and fast. We have to get to Birmingham, as quick as we can.”

Paul and I shared a glance.

“Okay,” I said, but my voice was even weaker than before. “We’re on it.”

We moved slowly towards the armchair, our eyes more accustomed to the dark. Henry Williams wasn’t speaking, but I could hear those heavy, heavy breaths; it was like listening to someone who was trying to stop themselves from being sick. As we drew closer, he spoke again, and it was like the words were being pulled out of him. It was taking a great effort for him to speak clearly.

“It’s me, isn’t it? They’re … here for me this time.”

We immediately stopped dead in mild shock, mouths gaping like idiots. He knew … and yet here he was. Waiting.

“Mmm … I thought so,” Henry said, sadly … but also with what sounded like resolve. I noticed that, despite the city we were in, his accent wasn’t Scottish. He actually sounded English, and well-spoken at that. Posh, even. He shifted slightly in his seat, and as he did so, he caught the light. Now I could see two things; one, that his whole body was shivering violently, and two, that he was wearing clothes of a very unexpected nature.

Henry Williams was wearing what appeared to be full military dress uniform, right down to the beret. There was even a few medals on his chest, and his sleeve bore one of the few symbols of rank that I recognised; three chevrons. He wasn’t
Mr
Henry Williams, then. He was
Sergeant
Henry Williams, Retired.

And he knew what was coming, and had decided to meet it appropriately dressed.

I was so stunned by it all that I blindly tried to stick to the script.

“Sir, uh, we, we uh ... here to, uh, evacuate ...” I started, unable to meet his gaze as I fumbled my way through my words. Henry cut me off as he closed his eyes and weakly raised a hand, taking in a heavy breath through his nose as he did so. His shivers increased for a second, and he let out a little noise as he gritted his teeth and clamped them down. The shivers eventually lessened, but they didn’t stop. His head slumped forward slightly, and he then shook it slowly.

“I know you’ll have your … orders, young man,” he said, without looking up. He sounded unimaginably tired. “So it’s commendable that you’re trying to carry them out, even ... when we both know what you’re saying is nonsense.” The words shivered from his lips, like a man trying to speak through hypothermia. He looked at me, and squinted; I could see his facial features more clearly now. A large nose on a broad, flat face. Small eyes under thick, grey eyebrows, eyebrows that matched the few remaining bits of thin grey hair on the sides of his head visible from the point where the beret stopped. “I know your face, don’t I?” he said. “The ... fellow from the television? You were with the ... Prime Minister.” I nodded in response, silent, but Straub barked in my ear.

“What’s he saying, Pointer? We’re getting static on our devices. Get him out of there.”

I ignored her, and looked at Paul for guidance, lost, mouth working soundlessly, moronically. Paul was staring at Henry, and slowly raising his hand.

“Sir …” said Paul, “I’m afraid I’m respectfully going to … have to … ask you to come with us. It’s … it’s for the good of the country.” He almost looked embarrassed saying the last part, and I felt I needed to back him up.

“It’s going to save lives,” I offered, and immediately felt the same thing that Paul did. It wasn’t embarrassment; it was shame. There was a dignity at hand here that neither of us possessed.

“Indeed,” said Henry, nodding slowly. “I saw the whole—” Henry stopped talking and gasped, then breathed out heavily, clamping down on himself again. He then continued once his breath was back. “The whole business, on the television. Chaos, utter chaos. Families ... children mixed up in it. Dreadful business.” He felt around the left-hand arm of his chair, looking for something, and found the head of his cane. “Not … not really had a fantastic few days of it … myself …” He went to stand, and Paul and I darted forward.

“
No!
” Henry suddenly shouted, his voice cracking. I couldn’t tell if it was from effort or emotion. Either way, we backed off, and let him stand up unassisted. It was painful to watch. The shivers, combined with his own stiffness, made a process that would be mere seconds long for Paul or myself take nearly a minute for Henry as his shaking and elderly limbs struggled to support his weight. He looked like his body should be audibly creaking, and when his head wasn’t bent downwards with effort, we could see the stress of the movement standing out all over his straining face. Between the arms of the chair and the use of his cane, Henry managed, eventually, to get himself into a standing position. His expression was pained, but his stance, once upright, was as proud as he could physically manage. Sweat ran down his heavily lined face.