Brock Steele Sphere Read online

  “Intelligence gathering? Who told you that? You are a damn nuisance, Brock. These people are your enemies, you fool.”

  “Why should they be my enemies? Let me finish Sighrus off. Where can I find him?” said Brock.

  “Finish him off? Brock, you’re insane. Sighrus isn’t here, and involving you would compromise national security. I’ve already overstepped confidentiality. Leave now or I will have the police escort you to the station,” snapped Lady Ranskill.

  There was a sudden silence in the ballroom. Lady Ranskill tugged at the curtain, craning her head around. She quickly released it, pulling her head back in. Her mouth fell open and the blood drained from her face. Brock yanked the curtain and peered around as Lady Ranskill groaned.

  Dressed in a tuxedo was Sighrus, and behind him was someone who looked familiar. Brock racked his brains, and with a gasp, it hit him. The outstretched hand asking for money that day in Camden … He had cleaned up and put on a suit, but he was still recognisable as the homeless man Brock had taken notice of.

  “My goodness. How did he know?” Lady Ranskill said.

  “What’s he doing here?” said Brock.

  “You need to crawl out from wherever you came in from as fast as your little legs will carry you, pronto,” said Lady Ranskill.

  “After you tell me what’s going on. I’m sick of this, on the run with this madman after me, blamed for Lacy’s murder, Icarus’s murder. I look like a mass murderer. I’m staying put,” said Brock.

  “You brood far too much. I have to admit, I love a man with balls like you. Some top officials are meeting here tonight, although we’re moving elsewhere now. It should have been kept very low key and made to look unimportant. This monster must somehow have got wind of it. If he sees you, we’re all up the creek.

  “Rawlins mentioned something about him, and now he’s apparently been shot,” said Brock.

  “He’s dead,” said Lady Ranskill.

  Brock took her hand and moved it across his jacket, brushing past the pistol. Her eyes bulged.

  “This is out of control. The dear Rawlins, he was such a fool,” said Lady Ranskill. “How’s your girl? Sarah, I believe?”

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose. Planning on getting across the channel. Somewhere far,” said Brock.

  “Watch her,” she said abruptly, staring into his eyes “They need me in the ballroom to deal with him. I have an idea. Someone owes me a bloody great favour. Come by my house tomorrow early. Let’s say 6 a.m. – that’s when the security change hands. I’ll be up waiting. Now leave and, for heaven’s sake, be safe.”

  “Tell me what’s on the USB,” he said.

  “What?” she asked.

  A loud bang penetrated the ballroom. A lightbulb shattered and glass fell across the floor like falling snow. Instantly, Brock pointed the pistol into the air, pushing Lady Ranskill to the floor. Two smartly dressed men in tuxedos were heading their way, pointing standard-issue Glocks at him.

  Brock let off a round of bullets, yanking hard at the curtain to pull it down. One of the men fell to the floor holding onto his leg, squealing. The other man fired his weapon at Brock, and he ducked to the ground, quickly scanning the room. He jumped up and sprinted towards the hallway, firing at a fizzy drink gas canister, knocking it over as it span out of control, spurting out its gas. He pointed his pistol towards it again, pressing the trigger. Fire leapt through the hallway, practically blowing him out the staff door, and he just managed to keep his balance as he headed out onto the street.

  Chapter 27

  Sighrus stood amongst the glass once again, angry.

  “It’s him, trust me. He was seen there in the hotel,” he snapped.

  “One of our camera operatives located him at a place he’s staying, sir,” said Martha.

  “Good.”

  “Should we go in, sir?”

  “No, I have a splendid idea. He’s playing with us, and now I’m going to play with him,” said Sighrus.

  Chapter 28

  Ty conveniently put his fist through the window of an old dark-blue Audi parked across a quiet street. They all jumped in. Pulling its wires under the dash, he fired up the engine. His bottom lip stuck out, and he was distant and quiet. He skidded forward, driving recklessly across London as though in a fierce high-speed chase. After a brief visit to the small corner grocery store, the car skidded off, pulling up in the car park of the boarded-up hotel. All breathed a sigh of relief. Ty leaned over, grabbing his stomach as though he was about to puke, but he didn’t. They stepped through the broken window into the derelict hotel. Ty threw his stuff into a room opposite Brock and Sarah’s and wandered into the shower.

  Sarah leaned across the chipped worktop, wiping a sponge across it and then pulling contents out of a carrier bag. Brock hovered around the doorway. A shadow appeared across the window and both froze. He edged over to the window, peeking out.

  “It’s only Ty. How are you going to cook this?” he asked, appraising the smashed bare-brick crevices; ovens and white goods had been carelessly ripped out.

  “The stove I used this morning, although I’m chock-a-block after the meal in the café. Are you sure it was Ty? Could have sworn I seen something else. Anyway, tell you what, Ty might be hungry. I’ll cook it anyway. Make something special for us all,” she said, rubbing her nose. “Last meal before the executioner.”

  Brock chewed on the side of his cheek as he moved towards her. “We’re safe in this place, trust me.” He placed his hand across her shoulder and she pulled away.

  “What makes you so sure? And you walking into these places, being seen, it’s crazy. He’ll get you eventually. It’s only a matter of time.”

  She threw her hand into the carrier, pulling out some mince, ripping it open and slapping it into a bowl.

  “I’ll keep a low profile from now on, I promise.”

  She shook her head, digging the knife into an onion. “I doubt it, you’re obsessed with him.”

  She grabbed a bottle of expensive Spanish Rioja but it slipped right out of her hand. It smashed, red wine flooding across the old kitchen floor. She ran her hand through her hair.

  “I’m sorry, this whole debacle has shaken me. The way the gun went off, hitting his head. I should have done something.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. Look, I’ve devised a plan and—”

  He was interrupted by thundering footsteps coming from the stairs and something loud crashing against the floor. Sarah snatched up the knife and Brock reached into his trousers, pulling out the pistol. A shadow appeared in the kitchen doorway. Sarah ducked behind the worktop and Brock eased himself closer to the door. Ty appeared in the doorway, his face drained.

  “I feel sick, count me out of the food. I’ve hidden the car in an outhouse next to the building. The overhead door took some smashing into.”

  Grabbing a bottle of wine, Ty swished his way through the door into the bar. Sarah unscrewed the lid from the sauce. “We can’t stay in this place forever. What are we going to do?” She poured the bolognese sauce into a pan.

  Brock remained silent and headed out into the bar. Ty lounged on the stool, his hands in his head. “I’m a simple car thief. Killing a man like that … it makes me sick.”

  “Forget it. What is done is done.”

  Ty shook his head and downed a full glass of red wine. “Forget it? Cops will be after me like a shot. I can kiss goodbye to Argentina and my mates. And her. Doing time for this will kill me.”

  “Calm down, we’re all going to split shortly. Is that her name? Argentina?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It was all planned. Me and this Argentinian chick arranged a couple of fake passports. We were going to board a ferry and jump across.”

  A rustling came from the kitchen, then tapping footsteps came nearer.

  “Keep hush about Argentina to her,” Brock
said hurriedly.

  Ty gave him a blank stare and reached for the wine bottle. Sarah stepped forward holding a large tray. She put down three plates of piping hot spaghetti bolognese and a plateful of chocolate eclairs. Ty pushed the plate away, pouring more wine. There was plenty of wine in the hotel, but it was table wine. Sarah had insisted in the corner shop she wanted quality.

  She chewed on some mince while Ty rattled his silver cutlery on the plate, staring at it. An engine revving directly outside the window startled all of them.

  “Someone’s outside!” shouted Sarah.

  Brock jumped up, dashing to the window, peeking through a tiny gap in the metal shutters. “They’re driving away. Probably just took a wrong turn.”

  Sarah’s hand shook as she uncorked another bottle, topping up the three glasses. Her face was flushed.

  Ty moved his gaze towards the pile of food on his plate, grimacing. Brock pulled at his sleeve and examined the tattoo on his arm. “Is this cult still going?”

  Ty didn’t reply. Brock slowly, robotically, turned his head to the door.

  “What’s wrong?” said Sarah.

  “Shush.”

  There was a rattling coming from reception and Brock crept across and peered out towards the open window.

  “Ty, you could have closed the window. It’s only a fox. He tried to jump in,” said Brock.

  “Do foxes usually gate-crash buildings?” said Sarah.

  “All the time,” said Ty.

  “I’m getting sick of all this. It’s scaring me half to death. Doubt I’ll sleep a wink. I’m heading up,” said Sarah.

  “I’m calling it a night too. Going sleep this crap off,” muttered Ty.

  The room lamp dimly lit the room. Sarah slumped over a chair she’d dragged in, and Brock sat in another. She held on to a clipboard she had found downstairs in a rusty filing cabinet. Placing it on her knee, she wiped her flushed face.

  Brock shot her a glance; she was wobbly, slurring her speech. He laughed.

  “So, err, what was the first memory? Waking up out of the coma?”

  He glanced at her, trying to keep a straight face. “Let me get my small brain into gear. The hospital, yes, that was the first thing I remember—chatting with two physiotherapists and a nurse. It was weird. I’d been in the coma so long, apparently my leg muscles had turned to jelly. Then they told me what had happened.”

  Brock gazed towards the floor as Sarah gulped down more wine.

  “When they said I’d been attacked, I was fuming. The nurse administered her poisons and they carried on chatting, but something more pressing hit me. Who the hell was I? I felt so alone.”

  Sarah could hardly keep her eyes open.

  “Later, doctors said they didn’t know whether my memory would ever return. Soon as I got on my feet walking again, everything happened so quick. The discharge, thrown into a bare basement apartment, expected to carry on. But it was a lie within a lie.”

  Sarah fumbled with the wine bottle. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Something seemed amiss. It puzzled me all the time. Normal people hang family photos, have special items they cherish, paper records. This apartment appeared bare of everything, as though I’d walked into this world starting my life for the first time. I analysed everything, trying to make some sense out of it. Everything I touched was brand new, and there was no sign of my old life anywhere. And the more I thought, the more questions arose. Eventually, I realised the truth.”

  He pushed his back into the chair, remembering. Sarah wriggled her body in a more comfortable position, dropping the clipboard and pen to the floor. Not a single word was written on it.

  “It left me in fear of my life. Every morning I’d scan the street, listening for every sound. Footsteps, people talking, even guns being clicked or loaded. I was convinced an attack on me would be imminent.

  “That’s where things started to make sense. Ty said I joined the army and I reckon he’s right. I was a soldier, a fighting machine, and that’s why I was on a knife-edge the whole time. I’m not a normal member of the public. I know I can handle a gun, strip it in seconds. The minute I picked one up, it was like my hands were operating by themselves.”

  Sarah gulped some more wine. “Tell me about the nightmares, particularly about the bridge and box. There may be a relevance.”

  Brock rubbed his face. “I feel a bit embarrassed, fearing bridges, it’s silly. However, I hate them with a passion. It’s like a ritual, sensing the drop below, usually followed by a wind chill as though it’s going to push me over. I usually freeze and throw up. I just avoid them.”

  “Hold on, something has come to mind,” Sarah slurred. “I popped down to hospital records in the basement shortly after I got sacked. It was chaos outside anyway. It was during shift change and there only a young girl manned it. I waved my pass and she let me in. The complete file was gone—somebody had snatched it. I slipped into a consultant’s room on the way back upstairs and managed to get into the system. Someone deleted your file too.”

  “You told me it was impossible to hack after an update.”

  She dropped the wine glass to the floor, giggling. “Stupid Dr Samuel placed a sticky note to his computer with his password on it. I noticed it when he was sacking me. I was worried it might be old, but I tried it and got in.”

  “Why would someone want to delete my file? That’d only arouse more suspicion, surely?”

  “To remove a good part of your life, I’m sure of it. Your real home address, specifically.”

  “You should have mentioned that yesterday.”

  “I was in such a terrible state and had so much to tell you. It’s unlikely Sighrus can access the hospital system, but I’m betting someone in the hospital did it for him, a doctor maybe. And something else I wanted to tell you. You remember the night we ate at the restaurant?”

  He nodded.

  “You remember the black jeep, the one you took such interest in all night? He followed me home, parked it across the road watching me.”

  “You should have called me.”

  Her head fell across the chair, her eyes closed, and she muttered, “Didn’t consider it too important.”

  “This psychopath will stop at nothing,” Brock growled.

  Brock woke at 5 a.m. and slipped into his clothes, pushing the pistol into the back of his trousers as usual. He quietly climbed down the stairs, grabbing the last of the chocolate eclairs and stuffing it into his mouth. He pushed at the window and jumping through, heading across the heath to Lady Ranskill’s house. The air was cool and the dark sky still upon him. Wind blew into him as he trampled through the undergrowth.

  When he reached the street, all was silent, just a bird or two chirping. Two silver Audis were parked directly opposite her dwelling; he had arrived too early. Light shone out of her living room. Making his way over the neighbour’s fence, Brock quickly ducked as the man in one of the Audis appeared to glance his way. He waited several moments; the man did nothing.

  He sprinted across the neighbour’s drive and made his way around to the back garden, jumping over the fence. Peering into the kitchen window, Lady Ranskill was sprawled over a chair, her elbows on the table, sipping coffee. He drifted closer and tapped on the glass. Her head shot up and she pointed to the direction of the back door. A moment later, it opened.

  “I’m a bit surprised to see you,” she said.

  “Are you going to let me in?”

  She moved aside, beckoning him to come in. Following her to the kitchen, he took a pew as though he owned the place, grabbing the cafetière and pouring himself a coffee.

  “I have some bad news,” she said.

  Brock sipped the dark strong coffee, waiting for her to drop some kind of bombshell.

  “We think Sighrus might have got wind we are going to unseat his little plot. We have to act qui
ckly. As we speak, information on his little charade is being passed to the powers that be. However, certain contents of this USB you have in your possession are … unknown. We need it.”

  “Got any biscuits?”

  She glared at him. “You need to take me seriously. Surely you understand what this man is capable of?”

  “Course I do. You’ll get the USB in good time.”

  She pulled at a cupboard door, throwing him a full packet of biscuits. “We need to act quickly, you fool. Sighrus is planning for you, your girlfriend and that damn boy with you to be sectioned, and you’ll remain there for a very long time. Trifle with him now and we’re screwed.”

  A car door slammed outside and Lady Ranskill jumped. “Did they see you?”

  Brock shrugged.

  “You need to trust me. I’ve already made plans for Sarah to board a flight under an assumed identity this Friday. She’ll be flying to New York under a fake passport. Some of our friends will be taking good care of the little dear.”

  “Bit extreme.”

  “You should take me seriously. They’re CIA, and believe you me, she requires their help. This is my fight. You treading on Sighrus’s toes will only bring more trouble.”

  “He needs to be killed.”

  Lady Ranskill’s mouth hung open slightly. “Yes, he does. Let us do the leg work and we’ll take care of him. Meanwhile, Sarah will be safe and sound, protected by the CIA’s skilled operators in New York, awaiting you.”

  “What if we both flew to New York? I mean, you’ve suggested I keep my nose out of the whole affair.”

  She grabbed her empty coffee cup and threw it in the sink. Brock wiped his hands across the back of his jacket, feeling the gun.

  “You’re very stubborn, Brock. Bring us the USB and we’ll get Sarah on a plane. Nobody will get near her, I promise you. It’ll be safer this way. I’m going to let you into a little secret …”

  She glanced towards the door and across to the window, then stepped closer.