Things that went wrong

1 – The wake up call

 

Consciousness came back with a sharp pain in the head, eyelids heavy as a tombstone would not move at the first brink of returning mind. The sensation was of an ice pick stuck in his brain, it exploded suddenly with thousands more flashes of torture.

Agony made him clench his teeth, metallic crunch spilled an unpleasant taste of watery saliva in his mouth.

A second later, he became aware of a light source in front, a strong bright beam pushing its force through the closed eyes.

Felt himself squinting, slowly turned the throbbing head and opened his eyes.

Lorn was laying on his back slowly gathering his bearings, the place was damp and cold. He could hear water trickling down the walls about five metres away.

A single floodlight mounted high under the ceiling, illuminated the brown brick walls covered with black stains.

‘Cellar, old bunker maybe’, the first thought came across, ‘Arched brick ceiling, support columns, can’t see beyond them.’

Lorn breathed in his surroundings still lying motionless. He could not feel that any bone was broken so tried tensing his muscles slowly.

Apart from the headache, all seemed fine, ‘if you don’t count not knowing where the fuck am I and how did I get here’; relaxing into the surrounding sounds, he stilled his anger.

Pretending to move in sleep, he checked the pockets.

He still had his combat trousers on and a wool jumper; 'good at least I don’t have to worry about running stark naked, my boots are still on and from the tightness I reckon they did not take the shoe laces, not worried about me hanging myself then'

Lorn smiled, it wasn’t that bad, better than waking up nude, chained to a wall with broken limbs.

He reached to the small blade sewn into the thick collar, quickly pulled the thread and hid it in the palm still faking sleepy jerks of the body.

Slowly he sat up bracing his head in hands, suddenly there was a noise outside the door.

Still sitting with his head down, Lorn readied all his muscles.

Somebody entered, all he saw were black combat boots and trousers. The other one waited by the door, an AK-47 barrel hanging down in sight. The guard grabbed Lorn by the hair and jerked up trying to force him to stand.

He was ready the moment he felt the fingers curl up in his hair. Jumped up from his frog like position and sliced a deep line in the man’s throat, already spinning aside, going for the guy by the door. The first one croaked in surprise when his blood gushed out , the red fountain splattering wide like a peacock’s tail.

Lorn spun to the other man and grabbing his rifle levered it out from his hands and using his momentum delivered a fatal blow with the stock to the side of the gaping guards head. Both men collapsed in the same moment. Lorn looked at the wide, spreading pool of blood in the centre of the room. Red tears showed in the eye corners of the guy next to him, indicating explosive brain haemorrhage.

He took a deep breath and started a quick search of the bodies, took the gun belt and fastened it around his waist. Pocketed the access card, cigarettes and some money that he found on them, no names, no ID’s. He put on the guard’s black combat jacket and slung the AK down his back.

Finding nothing else in the room he carefully looked through the steel door training the Glock he found at the gap.

The corridor was twenty paces long, same red old brick walls and ended in stairs going up. Quickly he opened the door and peered out in search for cameras. He went for the stairs. The door on top had an electronic card lock, a camera outside which he avoided with no problem.

Standing by the wall he looked around. It was a stables building, with four horses sleeping in their boxes, the smell, mixed with the night’s cool air relaxed his mind and reminded of the little village he was born in.

'Gods man! Those were the times; now let’s find the host of this party….'

The moonless night was loud with crickets. A gravelled path led the way up to a Victorian mansion some 150 yards up a slope. Moving among the shadows of the large gardens between him and the building was easy. Lorn saw some guards standing near a stone fountain with a square and compass symbol on top of an Egyptian looking pillar.

They were chatting in hushed voices “… you remember Little Mark? He got called in to the old man’s office yesterday. I haven’t seen him since. You think he got the sack?”, the strong London accent instantly caught Lorn’s ear.

“Maybe the old man threw him down his fucking balcony heh mate? You know how things are, I haven’t even seen his office yet. Mark must have had a trip of his life.”, said the other guard.

“Hell if I want to know, he did not go there for cigars and whisky. I saw the old man leave but that fecker Franc did not leave with him. He took off in a Land Rover to the grove, got back 6 hours later in a Merc. Something’s up and Little Mark must have fucked up well enough.”

“Creepy place, the grove; I hear there are more graves in there than trees.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t even think of that fucking place.”

“You’re right mate, damn right.”

“Let’s see if the guys got anything off the little bird we caught Sunday.”

“They’ve been long enough; maybe they need a hand eh?”

Both laughed and started walking towards the stables.

Lorn sprung out of his hiding stabbing the man near him in the base of the skull, the knife sliding between the vertebrae with ease. Before the other one managed to cock his AK up, he slashed the blade across the panicked guard’s neck. The blood drowned out all sound, frothing in the wind pipe, spreading down the jacket like a tar spill.

'What crap am I in?', Lorn asked himself hiding bodies in the nearby bush. Last thing he remembered was the walk … joyfully strolling with her, along the coastal path in the evening.

He dropped her off home and had a beer in the local pub. Watching the sky in the back garden, sipping Guinness, contemplating cigarette smoke rings in the air. That was it, no memory of leaving the pub.

'Just a blank space and a bloody headache.' he sighed; 'Somebody probably doesn’t like my work. Fucking scum will do anything to stop the truth. The truth about this whole cesspit …'

Lorn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 'Need to move; let’s try to find Franc, bet he’s got some of the answers.'

Looking up at the mansion he could see a small light on ground floor, east side section.

'Probably kitchen or servants quarters' There was a thick carpet of ancient vine, covering most of the southern face of the building. A large balcony in the centre and a smaller one over it, supported by period columns, were a perfect spot to view the massive garden below.

Lorn started slowly, still stalking in the shadows, towards the towering mass of the building. He noticed a single guard come out of the house to the lower balcony and light a cigarette.

There was nobody else in sight.

Swiftly, he sneaked to the main wall and inspected the vine. The guard was whistling quietly. Suddenly he heard water, looked back and saw a stream of urine trickling from the balcony.

Lorn quietly jumped up a ledge and over the rail to the balcony. He could see no one through the windows inside. Like a cat, he came up behind the guard and caught his head in a nelson, covering the mouth with other hand.

“You’ll catch a chill old boy”, he whispered harshly to the guard “these chills can kill you, you know …”, the man’s neck suddenly snapped in his viselike grip and the body sagged instantly. The corpse was quickly concealed in the corner of the balcony, behind a huge sculpted stone vase. 'Those stupid snobs make it too easy to kill them, it’s like an amusement park', he thought scaling the side and reaching for the higher, smaller balcony.

***

 

Perched on a ledge close to the wall, he carefully looked inside. There was a small light in the room; the French doors were slightly open. Peering inside, Lorn could see somebody sitting at a large, antique oak desk, the person putting down a phone receiver.

Lorn slid in noiselessly, gun pointed at the man in the chair.

“Keep your hands on the desk mate if you don’t want a hole in the forehead” he said, voice level and calm. The man was in his forties, had a rugged, tough face with a scar running under the left eye. His perfect silver suit did not make him look any more, than a well groomed killer.

Their eyes met, measuring each other.

“Well I see that Lorn Wetean managed to break out.” the man said with an amused flash in his eyes, “You are even more interesting than we assumed.”

“Don’t fuck with me mate, you know what assume means? So you are the guy they call Franc huh? Making yourself comfortable behind the bosses desk are we? Naughty doggy.” Lorn said with a sneer.

He moved across the room towards the bar cabinet, casually poured himself a double dark rum, gun aiming.

“Franc Gokraut to be precise. We definitely underestimated you Lorn, you were supposed to be a stupid political blogger, conspiracy nut. But ha! What a surprise, where did you learn to kill? We don’t have any military record on you”, he asked with a smile.

Lorn sipped the rum enjoying the burning, invigorating sensation, his eyes constantly on the man.

“Funny name you have Franc, I’m sure it means something like asshole in some language, and what I know and can do, is none of your business.” his voice icy, “Now how do you explain all this to me so I don’t have to kill you? Stay still!” Lorn slowly came up to the desk and handcuffed the man to the heavy armchair. Connecting some zip ties he made a noose and cuffed the hands with the neck round the back. Now every jerk would pull Franc’s head back and strangle him.

“Neat trick, eh Franc? See what you can do when you use your brain! Now where was I?” he started searching the desk and shelves around. “Enlighten me!”

“You think you can just get away with this Lorn?” Gokraut was trying to find an easy position, knowing that there is no way he can break out now, ‘best to wait that fucker out, I can snap his neck later';  “We’ve been around for ages, you are just an upstart!”

“Now there mate, I can do whatever I want you see! Didn’t they teach you free will in church? Or did the years of serving scum made you like all the poor sheep in the world?” Lorn found another Glock with a silencer and two clips, some more searching revealed a wad of some £20 000 in cash and keys 'Arrogance all over those rich pricks, Gods they really are getting lazy' he smiled to himself.

“Be reasonable Lorn, we will find you again and your little girl, you know there are men waiting for our call to jack her out of the apartment?”, a nasty smile crossed Franc’s face making the scar twist like a snake.

“Thanks for the clue my friend” he reached for the phone and dialled quickly, the tone kept on forever making him shiver inside, guts turning to ice, when he finally heard her voice.

“Hello?”, a warm tone that always soothed his mind and soul.

“It’s me Vi, just checking in, did you water the roses?”, which was code for; I’m fine, get out, run with the plan.

A brief silence and a definite tone “I’m glad darling, I’ll water them right away. See you tomorrow at ten”

“Be careful with the thorns darling, see you, I’ll bring some dinner” he replaced the receiver.

Lorn warned her in code about the people watching the house, dinner meant that he had money and she is to take only necessities, no bank visits, no traces. Tomorrow meant in two days, ten was code for a small B&B they found in Ballantrae, a small Scottish village in South Ayrshire. The spot was perfect for a quiet, discreet rendezvous with river Stinchar giving them plenty of waterways to hide amongst or sail to Ireland if necessary.

Lorn had custom renovated an old wood hull 40ft yacht over some years. She was equipped with everything you needed to sail the world, food for 2 months, solar power, wind turbines and was registered under a false name, all costs of mooring paid always two years in advance in cash. The Void was his pride and most cherished possession, “One day we will just sail away from all this crap babe” he often said to Vitya “Find a desert island to live on”..

Franc moved in the chair, taking Lorn out of his mind. “Let’s say we would employ you, give you a nice job somewhere you like, you could even get a 'fuck off' chip if you work for it huh?”

Still searching around he replied with a laugh, “You want to buy me Franc? I don’t think you have the authority to do such things mate, you better tell me who does.” A painting above the desk beckoned him; carefully he tried to pry the ends. Slowly, peering inside, he swivelled the frame out. The safe was obvious, old and heavy, set into the wall ages ago.

Lorn tried the keys, he found in the desk but none fitted.

“Don’t go spying in there or you’ll burn your fingers lad.” Franc sneered, “Best to take the offer while it stands …” the words hung in the air with a dumb thud in the base of his skull.

“Shut up mate, let me work” he whispered stunning the man with the butt of the gun.

He searched the desk again and found a false bottom in one of the drawers, a key and some documents in a messenger bag, which he slung across his chest. It was a perfect fit and the lock clicked obediently.

'Now for the hard part' he thought remembering the stuff he read about hacking into safe boxes. Putting his ear against the door next to the dial, he started to slowly turn it, barely touching it, handling it oh so delicately as if he was caressing a breast.

First click went easy, second and third took some attempts and after five minutes of great concentration the door stood open.

'That’s what I call putting theory into practice', he beamed amused with himself.

An old, leather bound notebook held some names and addresses. Lorn put all the papers and money in the bag and stared blankly at the two grenades that were in the safe.

'My toys are getting better' flew through his mind when he put them in pockets.

Franc was coming back to his senses; he lolled his head around and squinted.

“Sorry mate but I will not take your offer. You see, I can’t be bought, persuaded or forced to do anything” Lorn slowly cocked the silenced gun, “I’m just a mess you see, chaos incarnate, and I’m going to fuck up this order you have built so long” he sighed, the decision made the moment he woke up, “So why don’t you try to persuade the devil to let you off the hook huh?”

“The Brotherhood will find you Lorn!” shrieked Franc, now in horror of the nearing death “they’ll sacrifice you like a pig!”

“Shhhhhhh ….” the click of the hammer and the spitting sound of the silencer blended into the night.

The tall, dark haired figure with steel blue eyes, slowly walked out of the room his gait soft, catlike. The sharp features twisted slightly with a thin smile.

 

***

 

The general was breathing softly, leaning against the wall. His mind was set still like honey, thoughts flashing before it. He saw the whole sequence of events and plans made, with total dispassion he watched it flow, searching for imperfections as a jeweller examining a diamond. Lieutenant Colonel Vincent Parks was a well-built man in his mid-fifties, he looked fifteen years younger though, his agile, muscular frame towering 6ft. The only sign of his age were the grey blurs in his hair and the mass of experience and years of training on his record. His first trip was Vietnam in 1970, when the war ended he joined Special Forces where he quickly became known as The Reaper. Covert Ops across the globe, coups, revolutions, sabotage, the list that was never published by the shadow people who engineered them and put into motion. Parks knew the dirt of the world too much and it wasn’t the poor bastards caught in the turmoil, the invisible game, power struggle for all minds and wealth; the ultimate goal of the ones who gave orders from the top of the pyramid. Poverty was made by evil minds who Vincent knew too well, carried sheepish masks of the charitable. The mask that was carried by Reece Clint, the secretary of defence, by Barry Sanders, the director of the CIA, and by the masters of surveillance, web giant chief Bill Doors and social networking monster site, Marco Sugar.

They were all sat now around a fireplace on thick leather sofas, smiling to each other, raising toasts with disgustingly expensive whiskey, the kind that you just can’t buy if you are not in the club. 'Not many are' he thought observing them through binoculars, hugging the ruined stone wall on the edge of the forest, fifty metres away, 'so easy to clean up this world of scum and greed, just a couple of bullets and the world will be chaos, purifying fire, and maybe there will be no rulers and ruled afterwards' he sighed noiselessly, the night’s events to happen, heavy on his shoulders. 'I’ve killed so many innocent people, who managed to be in the way of the big bulldozer of the new order. I can kill the drivers now; now that I know better. Their karma is overdue …' he resolved and checked his gear.

There were not many agents securing the area, Parks counted four up front and five round the back, spaced out twenty five meters apart. 'Looks like they want that privacy bad enough', the meeting was unscheduled and secret but Colonel had his sources everywhere, he was the kind of guy you just don’t say no to, in both nice and nasty ways.

The first secret service man was just five metres ahead, smoking a cigarette next to a wooden tool shack and a stack of fire logs. Vincent crept up like a ghost and grabbed the man, hand over mouth, stabbing the needle into the back of his neck. The poison was lethal and fast. Paralysing the muscles while the mind was still lucid; the body literally 'froze' to death, heart suddenly not moving, the panic of observing yourself die with no hope cruel.

No sound, just a faint gasp, Parks hid the body and took out his dart gun. The laser pointer hopped three times from target to target with deadly precision and mortifying calm.

The remaining agents from the front of the building collapsed into the ground.

He ran for the window and took out an explosive pack. It was a small charge rigged with shrapnel, maximum damage in confined spaces, the timer set for 3 seconds, he tossed it through the window right in the middle of the sitting ‘world powers’. The startled looks fell on the charge, a note stuck to it said “You Know What You Did”; the blast threw them around like rag dolls. Vincent threw three grenades over the house to the rear at the same time and pulled the pins on the remaining 10 he had packed together. The moment he was tossing them inside the house, he saw the mince that was left out of them, Marco Sugar was sitting shocked, staring at his ripped arm and legs, half face missing, still alive.

“Put that on your wall” sneered the Colonel and ran for cover, the moment he jumped the ruined wall, a huge explosion rocked the house and the surrounding trees, smacking him to the ground. He got up hastily and ran into the dark.

The Reaper was dancing among the flaming ruins in the middle of the forest, laughing at the people and their feeble power.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 – The haste

 

Lorn was speeding down the motorway in the middle of the night on a stolen Kawasaki he had found in the mansions garage.

Getting rid of the sleepy guards was too easy with a silenced gun, they never knew him coming, moment of death uncatchable when the bullet smashes through brain tissue.

He found the garage open, “My oh my” whistled in awe seeing the egoistic display of sparkling sportsters and motorbikes, “ain’t that birthday you are long overdue?”.

The metal box on the wall had all the keys in and a gate remote, 'eanie meanie minie mo, Kawasaki it is then' a shiver ran down his spine. He changed quickly into some riding gear that was displayed on the wall, 'fucking batman cave' he thought 'but it’s not the hero who owns it, it’s the devil himself. No sin stealing from him then!' he chuckled.

He saw the number plates were different than normal ones and realized at once that the police will not dare to stop him 'not until they find this mess, maybe 12 hours of total road freedom'. The motor started with a gorgeous purr, promising lots of power and speed hidden inside the pony, Lorn opened the garage door and rode off into the night.

He quickly realized that the place was near Cambridge, taking route up north towards Sheffield he throttled up the M1 like a bullet. Quick stop at the services halfway solved the plates problem. He bought a pocket screwdriver and a prepaid phone.

Finding a similar bike parked amongst the numerous cars was not a problem. No one was around, most of the people sat inside the building with their lattes, slot machines and massage chairs to occupy them and addle their brains with the multi-coloured display of hypnotising, useless crap you buy and do, to make your life momentarily exciting.

Lorn switched his plates with some poor bugger that will have to explain himself later and called the one number he always knew by heart.

“It’s me baby, how are things?” he said hastily, feeling the anxiety for her.

“I’m fine, just arrived home, she is fine too, how are you Lori?”

He smiled at the sound of the name she’s been always calling him, knowing that all is fine and the boat was ready.

“I’m ok Vi, listen I’m going to change number now, write this one down’ he read her the new one from the second prepaid he bought, “get a phone and call me back asap, I’ll be on my way soon, should be with you at noon.”

“Ok darling, I always have a spare number on me. I’ll swap and text you in a sec. Take care, love you”

“Love you too” he hung up and tossed the sim card  in the bin changing it for a new one.

A minute later a text message arrived “see you noon, bring in some rum”, 'yes, we’ll need that to tell the story of the last days' he smiled and went into the building.

Standing in a queue at the newsagents Lorn tried to put together all that have happened and fill the gaps. 'I should have been more careful with sources, I bet they got me through some shill. Who was it? John? Mark? Vince? Both first ones are in exile, I’ve checked them out as far as I could but Vince… that is a sore ass that I haven’t looked at. Damn stupid to be baited so easily by information. It was good but it all went too smooth. Hah but to publish that it was worth it! Banks running the world with CIA as their big stick! It went out pretty wide, and now they made a big mistake, they did not kill me.' he mused contentedly when a voice broke the spell.

“Me’i you w’on some’phin?” a spotty youth behind the counter mumbled lazily, Lorn turned his steel piercing eyes at him “Sorry I did not catch that?” he snarled.

“Would you like something Sir?” the boy quivered like a leaf under the gaze.

“I would like you to speak English, not this monkey pidgin you use, but that’s too much to ask and I’m tired of morons today, pack of amber, papers and filters please” he said levelly.

“Yes sir, please, thank you, haveagoodday …” mumbled the assistant, Lorn not listening, leaving already.

“Oh so rude, I do understand him, I find your accent foreign though” a high pitched voice turned his head around, “so rude to scold a working young man like this” the posh accent came from a middle-aged, overdressed woman, her makeup heavy to match the suffocating perfume and distasteful rich clothing. She looked like a wine ridden parrot prostitute, now bolstering her feathers to everyone.

“Oh I have noticed that his attitude to life is same as yours lady” he sneered in perfect posh accent “maybe you should learn egoism from each other but I do plead with you, do not approach the young lad as the smell of old cat and grey soap might pop his spots right in your face, and then your mask would fall and reveal the greedy, old, bitter hag to everyone.” Lorn’s smile was perfect victory, he left her and others gasping and groaning, 'Fuck! The world is doomed with these idiots' he thought, the door slamming behind.