It Wasn't The Bullet (21) “All of them, except the people who killed Terry.” Charlie interjected “Yes, indeed, all but him. However, Charles, I get the feeling that one of us will eventually tidy up that loose end.” “So you are positive that Hamilton is behind it?” “I am Charles” “Did Terry ever tell you about an operation we did in Scotland a few years ago?” “I don’t recall, Charles. Why do you ask?” “ I killed a man called Gordon Hamilton. It was a business thing. Terry was there too. Could this have been a relation? How much do you know about Gregory?” “ Well, if they are related that would only confirm why Terry was so savagely beaten before he was killed.” His grey eyes seemed to lose focus for a moment, and then he continued, “I seem to recall the Hamilton’s were a large family. Anything is possible in this murky world Charles.” “Well then, I suspect you have a plan. I also sure that you found me to help you complete it.” Simon let a tight smile fleetingly show on his lips. “You are correct on both suspicions. Terrence and I had finished our preliminary reconnaissance and were about construct a means of attack when he was savagely taken from us. I had already thought to enlist your assistance when you encountered your own set of problems. I have formed an alternate plan, unfortunately there are some rather severe time constraints attached to it. The owners of the house directly opposite Mr Hamilton had some unexpected luck. They won an all-inclusive Caribbean cruise that took them out of the country for two weeks. A somewhat poor attempt at ironic humour on my part. They are due to return in seven days. I am a bit of a gadget man I have to confess and in the house are now installed three time lapse cameras recording a frame every two minutes. Remote surveillance I suppose you would have to call it. An associate of mine is changing the tapes each twenty-four hour period. I plan to whisk you covertly back to good old Blighty and we will assess the tapes and formulate a plan of attack using that intelligence.” “Why can’t we just set up rifle and take him out as he walks out of his front door.” “Because, Charles, I would like a brief chat with him. He has a piece of information I want. Namely, who ordered him to put out the contract. We are going to snatch him, and then after he has satisfied my curiosity, I will dispatch him to whichever God he prefers.” Samantha could feel her nails digging into her palms, it was now or never. “I won’t be left behind. I can help.” Both men looked at her. “Listen, I’ve come this far with you Charlie. My name is out there too, I want to see this finished so we can decide what to do with our lives, my life.” Charlie and Simon still regarded her with impassive stares. “Right now, I have no choice. Fuck it! I’m coming with you. End of discussion.” She got up sharply and the wine in the half full glasses sloshed to and fro. Samantha tried not to stomp out of the room, but failed. So she slammed the bedroom door for good measure. Samantha awakened by herself. She could hear muffled conversation coming from outside. She pulled herself out of the bed and stepped through to the kitchen. She could smell the fresh coffee, poured herself a mug and went outside. The two of them were wearing the same clothes as the previous night, they didn’t stop talking when they saw her. “Alright, we’ll do it that way then.” Said Charlie in reply to a question she did not hear. “Hey Sam, did you sleep well?” She smiled and said she had indeed slept soundly. “Well that’s good. You’re driving. Pack a small suitcase. We leave in two hours. But before you do that, Simon cooked up some crepes, have a couple.” He smiled a genuine smile for the first time since they met. When she came out of the bedroom with the one small suitcase, she was amazed to see Charlie and Simon cleaning. The house was spotless. Simon heard her come into the room, “Please don’t touch anything. I will clean your bedroom, Charles will explain what we are going to do next.” “Come on Sam, we’ll wait outside.” Charlie had a cloth in his hand and used it to cover the handle as he opened the front door. She followed him out. “Are you ready for a long drive? It’s going to take around ten or eleven hours. We’re going to pick up Simons boat in a place called Roscoff, which is around fifty miles from the port of Brest.” Samantha must have been looking blank because Charlie went into more detail,” It’s on the north-western tip, not far from the Channel Islands. Then we’ll whip over to somewhere close to Hastings and put this thing into action. Are you sure you want to go through with this?” “Charlie, I know I have to do it. There was a first time for you, was there not?”, she caught herself and added, “I mean the first time you planned it?” “There was, and I knew I had to do it too. You’ll be fine. Just remember to watch everything all the time. If you see or sense anything, anything at all, that doesn’t feel right. Speak up. Better it’s nothing than something. We have to control this situation ourselves. The players will have to abide by our rules, whether they are aware of them or not. You see what I’m saying?’ “Yes, Charlie. I understand.” Samantha replied with a slight unexpected edge to her voice. Charlie tilted his head to one side and appeared quizzical for a brief moment, then turned away and walked over to their luggage and placed into the boot of the vehicle. An hour or so later they were on the move. Charlie took the back seat because Simon said he would navigate. Samantha, after a couple of terrifying incidents, finally settled down to driving on the ‘wrong side of the road’ and they started to wend their way northwards. It took a further sixty minutes or so for Simon to direct the car onto the A9 toll Autoroute that would eventually lead them to Toulouse and then Bordeaux. Samantha could sense that Simon was anxious about something. His conversation and faded into snippets of observations about the countryside around them. The Pyrenees were falling further behind and now gave the impression once again of huge dark clouds looming on the distant horizon. Charlie lay stretched out over the back seats snoring softly in a deep, dreamless sleep. It was the first time Samantha could recall him being sound asleep without being chased by the demons in his soul. Simon cracked the passenger window and lit two cigarettes and he passed one to Samantha. “Samantha, I have to ask you a question. I have been, in fact, deliberating with myself to phrase it correctly. I, alas, have come up rather short on my intended approach.” “Ask your question, Simon” responded Samantha with a smile in her voice. “I am assured that you have fully thought you motives through. However, I need to know your feelings toward Charles. There will be no room for misguided emotion in the coming days.” Samantha took a deep breath. She had been expecting an interrogation of some sort. Inside she was pleased; it would probably steel her resolve to say the thoughts she had been having out loud. She looked at the highway unfolding in front of her, the spidery trees that lined the Autoroute ticked past like seconds on a watch. The blue sky was dotted with white bloated clouds that seemed to be defying gravity. She unintentionally drew in a deep breath, “To coin one of your favourite phrases, I will have to begin with a digression. Some months ago I was attending a patient who was involved in a horrific car crash. He hung on for quite some time, but his injuries were so severe there was no real chance of him surviving. His wife stayed with him almost every hour he was in the ICU. She read books, some out loud to her husband and some to herself. When he passed away, she gave me a particular book and suggested I should read it. It took me awhile to get round to it, but when I did my eyes were opened to a different world. The book was about coincidence, and how there is none and the theory of synchronicity. How our destinies are preordained, how it just depends on which choice you make at the time as to which road you will travel.” She paused to overtake a slower vehicle. “Think on this Simon. My hospital rotates intensive care nurses in and out of the ICU to try and minimise stress levels. We go between trauma and recovery. I have worked the emergency wards, trauma, recovery rooms, and general duty wards for close on five years. I have never attended to someone I know. When Charlie was admitted to the hospital, I was duty nurse on the ICU ward. Not only did I know him, he was instrumental in saving my brothers life and giving him another chance at it. Then, when was rotated out, I was assigned to the recovery ward. Out of the forty patients in there at the time, I was assigned to his room; each nurse is assigned to four patients. A 1 in 10 chance. For some completely illogical and completely alien reasoning, I helped him escape, which coincided with a two-week holiday I had booked over two months previously. The synchronicity was too pronounced to be ignored.” She paused and fumbled about for the bottle of water she hand put in the centre console. Simon retrieved it for her and unscrewed the lid. And as she sipped at the contents; she stole a glance at Charlie in the rear view mirror. He still looked dead to the world. Somewhere inside she hoped he was pretending, because she needed Charlie to hear the next part of her deep hidden convictions. Simon proffered another smoke, Samantha accepted it feeling the need to chain smoke and Simon was very careful not break the spell that she had cast by asking a question or offering an opinion. “I was so completely in lust with Charlie. I was convinced I wanted to be a gangster’s moll, being drawn into an absolute, almost adolescent, fantasy. I don’t know whether you would subscribe to this notion, but my emotions were kidnapped by Charlie. I had dreams of throwing myself in front of him to stop a bullet, rushing insanely to his rescue. Then I noticed as I did the little things he asked me to do, not only did it thrill me, I also enjoyed it and it felt natural. I wasn’t afraid; I seemed to instinctively know what to do. Then during our escape to France, it all started to intrinsically change me. Spending all this time alone with Charlie also changed our relationship. I fell out of lust, and I think we have formed a deeper more spiritual bond. I have no more sexual imaginings of him, these have been replaced with dreams of the future. I want to work with Charlie. I have a cold place in my stomach when I see the forthcoming few days. I think that he knows deep down it was Justin and Mikey that tried to kill him. And Charlie won’t rest until he knows for sure. Whichever way that turns out, Charlie will be alone.” Samantha slowed the car and pulled onto the hard shoulder. Simon tensed and looked surprised. The car came to a stop, and Samantha turned to him. She locked his eyes with hers and stared intensely around the grey irises and into his dark black pupils way down into his soul and said in a whisper, “I have never been so certain, so sure, so utterly convinced of anything in my entire life. I was born to be the person I am becoming. Please no longer doubt my intentions.” She stopped, her eyes now scanning his face wishing to find an answer in his weathered futures. “My dear Samantha.” Simon paused, “I have never been so utterly convinced of anyone’s unreserved sincerity before.” Samantha allowed herself to smile. “However, I really do think we ought to proceed before we are attacked by a rabid articulated lorry. I feel a little vulnerable sitting here on the shoulder.” Samantha came back to where she actually was, put the car in gear, and sped towards her destiny. As they pulled back into the stream of traffic, Samantha felt her heart rate returning to a normal pace. A thought flitted across her mind, and when it came to rest, she could not stifle a small giggle. She sensed Simon looking at her, “Consider this my job interview!” Simon let out a short guffaw, and Charlie stirred in the back seat. “What fucking time is it?” For no apparent reason there was another snort of laughter from the front seats. The road signs now had no mention of Toulouse, Bordeaux or Nantes, just the last big town on their journey to the sea, Rennes. Dusk was falling quickly and the passengers had been lost in their own silent musings for quite some time. Apart from his brief inquiry Charlie had been a champion for somnambulists the world over. “So why do you believe that Justin and Mikey will not be on this mortal coil for as long as they intended?” “I don’t have a rational explanation. Just a shadow of a feeling.” “That, my dear, is enough to save your life. Those nameless black visages that lurk on the periphery of consciousness.” Samantha could see his reflection framed against the night in the windshield, he was nodding his head as if recalling another time and place in his life. “I was in some godforsaken part of the Balkans in the middle of January. The peasants said it was the worst winter in twenty years. I was new to the regiment, my first or second mission as a Captain. Our goal was to forcibly remove a nasty little man who was running clandestine agents in our sovereign land and hand him over to some equally nasty little men who worked for our security services. The surveillance although productive, was taking too long. The men were literally freezing. I was not positive if our target was actually inside the building we had been told to observe. I had the absolute authority to act as I saw fit. A frontal assault would have resulted in a brief but bloody fire fight that my troops would have prevailed in, with few or no causalities. If the subject was indeed within those walls, this would have been the most direct approach to clarify that and complete our task. The more the second night drew on, the more convinced I was that the man was inside. I briefed my men and we prepared to move in. In the corner of my mind, I saw one of those black visages, a fragment of thought. It was something about the red door by the side of the house. I had elected that as the primary entrance for the attack. My reasoning being that it had two rather large windows on either side which was ideal for the secondary assault.. As the time ticked inexorably closer to our assault time, those tendrils of nothingness were tugging at me. I avoided their heeding, and put in it down to nerves. The red door seemed to have an evil surrounding it. It was time and we moved, the primary team went in first to crash the door, whilst my team were right behind to rush the hole. My other team would wait for the first sounds of gunfire and enter through the windows that framed each side of the front door. None of this happened, because two feet away from the red door, Sergeant Geoffrey Eames tripped a wire that was attached to, what I calculated after the blast, at least fifteen pounds of plastic explosive. He, and Corporal Alex Thomas, were immolated immediately. Myself and the two men at my side were blown backwards several yards and we lay stunned for what appeared to be hours. In reality it was under sixty seconds. The secondary assault ream reacted quicker than the enemy and provided suppressing fire so we could withdraw. Ever since that day, I have never once disregarded those messages from the periphery. Not once.” “Shit.” “Indeed” responded Simon. Charlie coughed, and Samantha heard him shuffle around, presumably to an upright position. “Fuck me, I needed that. Wow, I didn’t realise I was so bloody tired.”, Charlie’s voice was husky from sleep, “Is there anything to drink? I could murder a cup of tea. How long was I out for? Fuck, I need a piss.” “Are you just going to ask questions or would you like a response at some point?” Simon intoned.
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