It Wasn't The Bullet (23) “Charles,” In the short time Samantha had known Simon this was the first time she had heard a menace in his voice. “I expect you to trust me. I find it tiresome to explain myself.” “Well Simon, this time it will have to be tiresome. I want to know.” The sun was rising, coating their craft in an early morning light. The two men stood facing each other, neither willing to back down. Samantha felt a cold rush of fear in the pit of her stomach. These were a pair of very dangerous men, she had felt safe with them up until now. It was now down to a battle of wills. “Both of you stop being so fucking childish. Just explain yourself Simon. Fuck!” The words came out of Samantha’s mouth before she had a chance to stop them. Simon and Charlie were so surprised by her outburst they gave the impression of two schoolboys caught smoking by the bike sheds. “Charles, I anticipated the time it would take me to persuade you to help me. A day later and there would have been no dinghy, no help.” Charlie tilted his head to one side and then straightened up. “Ok” Simon turned his attention back to piloting the boat; the savage tension that had filled the small space of the wheelhouse began to dissipate. Samantha scanned the shore hoping to spot the dingy that would take them to a relative safety. In her mind hours passed until the small rubber craft came into view. Simon throttled back the engines and said to Charlie, “Time to leave this vessel and get back to dry land.” Charlie smiled and the three of them descended to the deck and waited for the dinghy. There were three shadowy outlines in the dinghy, one of them moved and a line appeared on the deck of the Seabreeze. Two of the figures clambered on board. Charlie and Samantha swapped positions with them, and after a brief conversation Simon joined them. Charlie had control of the motor and gunned it toward the beach. It took less than five minutes to reach the sandy bay, Charlie ran the boat onto the beach, lifting the propeller out of the water at the last moment. They skidded up the sand and Simon was out of the dinghy before it had come to a stop. “Leave it there.” he shouted, “Come on, follow me.” Samantha and Charlie disembarked and fell in line behind the trotting Simon and made their way up the slight incline until they made it to a small road where a blue Ford Sierra was parked. Simon jumped into the drivers seat and opened the passenger door for Charlie, who in turn unlocked the door for Samantha. The engine caught on the first turn of the key, and Simon engaged the clutch and pulled away. PART THREE Chapter Thirteen A few words of warning. The early morning traffic was light until they came close to the outskirts of London. Simon joined the M25 and just under an hour later they arrived at the safe house that Simon had described on the journey. Charlie felt at home in Mill Hill, he had lived in Finchley and knew the area from his childhood. It was a suburb of red brick semi-detached houses where the obligatory London Plane trees lined the streets. The house had a small front garden long since left to it’s own devices, a sliver of cracked paving stones led to a white painted porch and beyond that a frosted glass front door. It opened onto a hallway of red threadbare carpet and the first door on the left revealed a sparsely furnished living room contained three televisions with video recorders sitting on the top of them. Piled on the surface of a second hand dinning table were stacks of black cassettes. “There are three bedrooms upstairs; they should have clean linens on them. The kitchen will have a variety of canned food and fresh milk. These,” Simon said waving his hand in the direction of the table, “are the tapes from our remote surveillance. I suggest we have a cup of tea and then take turns reviewing our subjects activity.” “I’ll put the kettle on then.” said Charlie and walked out of the room and sought out the kitchen. The off white clock on the wall said the time was nine twenty-five. It only took him a couple of moments to find the tea caddy and teapot. He was exhausted after the long night in the cold. He was going to tell Samantha to get some sleep; she looked like he felt. He was still processing the conversation he had overheard in the car. He was grateful for Samantha’s insight into herself. He had been experiencing a series of conflicting emotions in the last weeks of their stay in France. He had high hopes for their lives in the future, providing he could survive the next few days. The water came to a boil and Charlie filled the teapot. He found an old tin tray with a picture of slightly rusted flowers on it. He carried the cups and the rest of the utensils back into the front room He set the tray down next to the pile of videos and noted that all three televisions were now powered on and the video players were all flashing a green 12.00. Samantha walked over to the table and started to pour their drinks. Simon beat Charlie to his request. “My dear Samantha, you look all in. Why don’t you nip upstairs after your cuppa and get forty winks. Charlie and I will get a head start on these.” Samantha gave the two of them a grateful smile; she really looked tired. She handed out a cup to each of them and headed to the floral patterned couch and stretched out. She was asleep before taking one sip of her tea. Simon and Charlie synchronised the times on the recorders and began their vigil. Each tape was set to extended play and held eight hours of footage, this translated into sixteen hours of real time action. The recording cameras took an image every two minutes. Charlie found it difficult at first to adjust to the jerky movement of the images, but gradually it became clear to him. The three televisions were set up side by side and showed the three separate angles of each camera. The left hand set showed a wide shot of the front of Hamilton’s house, the centre was trained down the road to the right of the house and the third was trained in a tight frame of the front door. In the bottom ride hand corner of each screen was a time and date stamp. “Why no shot of the left side of the road?” “Mmmmh, well I could only acquire three of the gizmos. I tossed a mental coin as to which way I would focus. The street curves a little to the right and we would only see a small portion of the road to the left. I figured it would be more advantageous to see more of the road to the right.” “Seems logical to me.” replied Charlie and continued to watch the screens. When they had both got the hang of the images they began to fast forward the tapes and in three or so hours had completed the first set of three. Samantha barely stirred in her sleep, she was breathing deep and evenly. They carried on watching, making notes and the occasional comment. It was well past eight pm when Simon sighed and said he had to sleep for a while. Charlie was extremely surprised that he had lasted this long as he watched Simon trudge his way upstairs. He, too, was bone achingly tired but was sure he could handle another set of tapes. It was interesting to watch the hour-to-hour activity of the house. From the information he had noted down, it would appear that this was a dealer’s house. Which Charlie found pretty stupid for a guy that was meant to be the head of this gang. The foot traffic to the front door increased between five in the evening and eleven at night. There was probably a self-imposed curfew on the part of the seller. He had seen Hamilton leave accompanied by what he assumed was a bodyguard, and be escorted to a silver Mark 10 Jaguar which pulled up to the front of the house. He did not see the driver leave by the front door, and had to conclude that there was either a garage at the rear of the house or the car was summoned via telephone. Virtually nothing happened in the street after midnight, when he saw the lights extinguish in the upstairs rooms; he upped the speed of the fast-forward and watched the next morning unfold in a rush of choppy images. As the time clicked over to seven am he slowed the speed of the three players. He woke with a start. Oh, fuck he thought as he saw the white noise on the television screens. He must have nodded out. He pressed rewind on the tape machines and realised for the second time in as many days the dawn crept up on Charlie. The note pad that Simon had provided him with was becoming filled with observations and notations. When Samantha awoke, Charlie was into the fourth day of tapes. She smiled at him and proceeded to yawn and stretch her limbs. “Wow, I don’t think I’ve slept as deep as that for years.” She yawned again and asked if Charlie had been up all night. He indicated he had, and was grateful for the offer of a little breakfast and tea. He paused the tapes realising he hadn’t relived himself for a number of hours. When he had emptied his bladder he stopped off at the kitchen and talked with Samantha as she made toast and tea. Back in living room he placed his steaming mug of liquid on the floor next to his chair, sat down bit off a piece of bread and hit play on the three remotes. He heard Samantha climb the stairs and shortly after could hear the old pipes in the house rattle as she ran herself a bath. Charlie involuntarily sniffed himself and decided that when Simon finally came down to relieve him it would be a good idea for he too to bathe. He began to get a little fidgety, and got up from the chair and paced up and down in front of the monitors. The machines whirred at their fast-forwarding pace. He was suddenly full of adrenalin when he thought he heard the squeak of the small wrought iron gate that guarded the short path to the front door. He snatched his gun from its holster and moved swiftly to the bay windows. Kneeling down, careful not to disturb the faded curtains, he found a gap and watched a man walk up the path holding a plastic carrier bag. Still crouching, he made his way into the hall and then stood up, flattening himself against the wall by the hinge side of the door. He knew there was no time to alert anyone or call for help. He slowed his breathing and slipped the safety off the gun. He could hear the rustle of the shopping bag as the man fiddled with it. Charlie was aiming the gun at the fuzzy outline through the frosted glass, he was ready to pull the trigger. The letterbox opened and a videotape appeared and dropped with a plastic thud onto the rectangular grey mat at the foot of the door. Then another was pushed through, followed by four more. The bag rustled once again and the mans foot falls receded. The gate squeaked once again and he was gone. “Fucking hell!” Charlie let the oath slip out as he felt the tension leave his muscles. He bent down and picked up the new tapes, reset the safety and holstered his gun. He would have a word with Simon about causing a near heart attack for lack of a little warning. Well, he was wide awake now. He picked up his still warm tea and took a big swallow as he sat back down on his chair. He had been back scrutinising the tapes for a bit when the plug was pulled on the bath and the water chugged merrily down the waste pipe. Simon materialized in the room, startling Charlie a little. “How goes the battle Charles?” “Oh, it’s had it’s moments. I think I’ve spotted a couple of opportunities, we’ll know for sure when we’ve seen a couple more days worth. He doesn’t vary his routine at all, stupid cunt. Between ten and quarter past he gets picked up by his driver. Been the same four days running.” “That’s definitely a starting point. Well done. Why don’t you go and get some shut eye.” “A bit later, I am a little wound up right now.” “Oh, pray tell why?” “You neglected to tell me about your postman.” “Oh lord!” Simon exclaimed, “Is he erm…”
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