We never met face to face; he always contacted me using an untraceable pre-paid cell phone. One day he instructed me to go to London by train, see a show, and return home. He also gave me detailed directions about how to change some of the security settings on my cell phone. When I returned home after seeing the show, I discovered that at some point during the day my phone had received a large file via Bluetooth. The file is called wreckingcrew.pdf, I have attached it along with this video, it is all of the information that he could gather.
A few days after my trip to London, I read that this brave man had died. He was an elderly man and in poor health, a widower. Apparently, whilst walking his dog deep in the woods near his house, he had a fall and broke his hip. Unable to move or raise the alarm, and soaked through by lashing rain, he soon succumbed to the cold and died of exposure. His body was discovered the following morning by a jogger; his dog was still waiting obediently by his side. Obviously, his death is disturbingly coincidental; I am convinced that it was the work of the Wrecking Crew.
I have discussed this information with Valerie Jenkins; she is the outgoing MP for my constituency area and a keen supporter of the concept of True Democracy. Like me, she feels that there is clear evidence that this Wrecking Crew have been used to undermine the democratic and legal processes in Britain and abroad. I have met with her at the House of Commons and she had agreed to back me if I decided to make this document public. We had planned to do exactly that at the beginning of my election campaign, she felt that such a public exposé would clearly demonstrate what a sham the current system of democracy was, while damaging the Wrecking Crew as an organisation.
Obviously, that plan has been derailed, although True Democracy will go on, my campaign obviously will not. I think you should speak to Valerie Jenkins to get her opinion, before you proceed any further. Our plan to expose the Wrecking Crew had merit, but contained one major flaw, as you will see. While the documents I received are clearly genuine and a compelling record of the activities of this dangerous organisation, the names of the people behind it, and even its location, remain a secret. Uncovering the identities of the Wrecking Crew’s key players, and killing them, is the only way to ensure that they can be stopped. Valerie will disagree strongly on this final point, but it is my considered opinion that we are way beyond a simple exposure — these people must die.
It is a lot to ask, particularly from beyond the grave, but I know that I will sleep the long sleep more soundly if these bastards are dead. As I said earlier, if you choose a different path, I will understand. If that is your decision, then with my blessing, please take the money and run. And if you do, then I sincerely wish you a long and happy life, my friend.
Should you choose to stand and fight — and I hope you will; the file Myteam.doc, contains a list of friends that I know you can trust. They are all good people with skills that you can use. If you ask in my name, I am confident that they will be willing to help. You cannot expect to do this alone, no one can. This is not some Hollywood thriller script Eric, this is real life, and you are just a man. In my experience, one man cannot find 100 % of the answer, but ten people each with 10 % of the solution will get the job done beautifully. This is just like a jigsaw puzzle; everyone has his or her pieces to add to complete the picture.
In my last will and testament, I have left you my farm, my car, and my other assets. Once the estate has cleared probate, do with them what you please. The file Money.doc, will tell you how to access the cash that I have put aside for you to use. It was legitimately acquired by selling my art collection; just don’t tell the taxman!
There is one other thing that may help. During the last week, I was sure that I was being followed. They are very, very good, but I could feel that itch on the back of my neck and I knew that they were there. During that time, I spotted the same person several times, and it was someone I recognized from a long time ago. At first, I couldn’t place him, but my old school teacher could. He was in the primary school class two years below me, his name is Darren Jeffers and he lives somewhere in Wethersfield. It could be a good place to start.
So that’s it my friend, it is time to say goodbye. I have left you a pretty problem and all of the help I can. The rest is up to you.”
Rathbone gave the screen a sad final wave, then he leaned forward with a finger extended and the recording ended. For a while, Eric Stone sat in the silent darkness of his kitchen, contemplating how his life had just changed. Finally, he spoke.
“Goodbye my friend, you can sleep well. I won’t let you down.” He slowly stood up. “Come on Stone, it’s time to get involved.”
FOUR
The Chameleon was stalking its latest prey. As always, it had carefully planned how this one would die. Everything was prepared, every possible eventuality had been calculated, every contingency considered, nothing would go wrong. Unlike other assassins, who were by comparison just crude killers, Chameleon was an artist. Each death was meticulously planned and precisely executed to look like an accident. Chameleon’s specialty was committing perfect, undetectable, murders — homicides hidden behind the innocence of an everyday tragedy.
There were actually two people living inside that one brain, like identical cerebral Siamese twins. One was just an ordinary person, unremarkable in every way. Someone with a normal job and a life, someone with ambitions and hobbies, the sort of person who may chat to you on the bus, rescue your cat from a tree, or help an old lady across the road. The other was called Chameleon; the shape changer, the invisible person, always there but never identified. The last person you will ever see, when your death is delivered with a smile and a wink.
The first person was born to loving parents in a happy home, in a small village near Sczopol, Bulgaria overlooking the Black Sea. A normal playful child destined to live an uneventful life, until tragedy tore the family apart, and condemned the child to a living hell of abuse and neglect in an institution. The second was planted and grown as part of an experiment, by an uncaring government, greedy for any advantage over the rich capitalists in the West.
Then, one day two men in dark suits came to the children’s home. The filthy and undernourished children were brought from their cells, cots, and dormitories, and forced to line up for inspection. Like farmers at a sheep auction, the men poked, prodded, and examined the wretched children. Incorrectly thinking that they were offering a better life, the children vied for their attention. The men threw some chocolate bars onto the ground and watched impassively as the children fought like animals to win the treats. Eventually one was selected; it was a strong child, with a good physique and obvious intelligence. That child was moved to an experimental Government facility, where the second child was to be implanted.
Look into the eyes of any soldier who has taken a life in battle and you will see a certain darkness, as if there is a hollow in their soul. Even in a time of war, it is natural for any person with an ounce of humanity to be haunted by the terrible things that they have seen and done. No matter how evil the enemy, no matter how just the cause, every soldier wears that badge of inner shame. Like an unwanted medal, a price must be paid by the victors and survivors, for the dead can have no shame.