When Norris Halpin arrived at the Wrecking Crew’s base, it was almost 11pm. He was the last to arrive. Given the nature of the service they provided, it was normal for The Fixer to summon the crew in the middle of the night. Norris suspected that they had been contracted to do some rush job, and he mentally prepared himself for another long night of searching his data banks for the required information. It was inconvenient and sometimes morally questionable work, but he had to admit that the money he received, was more than adequate compensation. Climbing out of his car, he noticed that all of the other team member’s cars were already there.
“Must be a big job,” he whispered under his breath.
As usual, Kitten was waiting outside the front door. Halpin walked over and stood obediently with his arms outstretched, while the huge Russian wrestler patted him down for concealed weapons. Although there was a decently stocked weapons locker in the basement, none of the staff was permitted to carry a gun, unless otherwise instructed, so pat-downs were commonplace.
“The Boss says to wait in the conference room,” Kitten said in his unusually girlish voice.
“What’s going on?” Halpin asked.
“Dunno — just do as he says.”
Inside the conference room, Halpin found Peter White, Becka, and Gordon McIntosh. They were in a conspiratorial huddle around the coffee machine. Halpin helped himself to a mug of coffee and a Danish pastry.
“What gives?” he asked directing his question to nobody in particular, “Some rush job again?”
“We don’t think so,” Peter White whispered.
Halpin raised a questioning eyebrow.
“We were at The Oracle in Reading earlier, chasing after this Eric Stone guy. Something went very wrong,” Peter White said gravely. “One of my guys is dead, two are in the hospital, and Helen is missing.”
“I heard a news report in the car,” Halpin whispered. “They said there’d been a shooting at some shopping center in Reading. They said a woman was dead.”
Becka put her hand to her mouth in shock.
“Stone must have killed her!”
Peter White gestured towards The Fixer’s office with his coffee mug.
“Bunny said The Boss captured some woman. She’s in the office now — I think its Linda Smart.”
Halpin grimaced.
“So why are we all here?”
“Becka thinks we are going to get paid off,” Gordon McIntosh said gruffly.
“What?”
Becka leaned in close and whispered.
“I saw some data flags yesterday,” she pointed a thumb towards The Fixer’s office, “he’s moving his money overseas. I think the Wrecking Crew’s closing.”
“For real?” Halpin asked, secretly delighted at the prospect of having his life back.
Becka nodded.
“Finished, over — kaput!”
“And there’s something else,” Gordon added, “he had me rig this place to burn, so we don’t leave any evidence.”
“Wow! So what’s going to happen now?” Halpin asked.
“I suspect it’ll be like last Christmas,” Peter White offered, “He’ll call us in and hand over an envelope, ‘Thank you for all your hard work… bla… bla,’ except this time we won’t be coming back in January.”
“Do you think we’ll get Helen’s share?”
“Fuck’s sake, Gordon!” Becka snapped.
“I was just thinking out loud.”
He shrugged ruefully.
“I bet you were thinking the same.”
Nobody tried to disagree.
Carter and Stone were parked less than a mile from Huggermugger, the building that they had identified as the Wrecking Crew’s base of operations. With Megan’s help, Stone had used her laptop to do some careful reconnaissance of the target area, before they had left the hospital.
Simon Cartwright’s house had been built in the center of a five-acre field, bordered on three sides by thick woodland. Stone had quickly decided that it was a horrible location for a frontal assault. Formally, the site of a Second World War airfield, there was nothing but flat open ground for miles. A car or pedestrian, approaching the building along the access road from the east, would be an easy target to any waiting gunman.
The only possibility was for Stone to approach from the west, accessing the rear of the property through the woods. From there he would need to leave the protection of the trees and somehow remain undetected, while he traversed the remaining one-hundred yards of open ground to the house. Using the cover of darkness and a lot of luck, Stone thought he had a slightly better than 60 % chance of making it unseen and alive. It was a tall order, but he could see no other option, if he was going to save Linda.
With the benefit of a clear satellite image, they had been able to identify the point where the road passed closest to the woods. Using the GPS in his car, Carter had driven directly to a small lay-by that was one-hundred yards west of the tree line. The earlier cloud and fog had dissipated, and the moon was high in the sky, clearly illuminating the frosty grass. Carter pointed to the sky.
“That’s a ‘Hunter’s Moon’. Take it as an omen of good luck.”
“Good for hunting, bad for trying to sneak up on someone,” Stone replied sternly.
Carter pointed to a farm track bordered with a line of bushes and a ditch.
“That track will lead you directly into the woods. When you get there, keep going straight. After around fifty yards you should reach the clearing at the back of the house.”
Stone nodded once and they climbed out of the car. Carter opened the trunk and handed Eric the crossbow with its quiver of four arrows, then a hunting knife, and the two-way radio.
“I’ve changed to channel eight. It’s unlikely that they’re still monitoring Linda’s radio, but we can’t be too careful.”
“Channel eight it is.”
The tension in his voice was obvious to hear. Stone reached into the trunk of the car for Anton Stephens’ handgun. He carefully checked the load, and then tucked it under his belt in the small of his back. Stone looked at his friend one last time.
“Listen out, but don’t expect to hear from me until I need a diversion — or a ride home.”
“I’ll be waiting — good luck.”
Without further comment, Stone turned and jogged away into the distance. Carter waited until he was out of sight before he climbed into his car and slowly drove away.
As Simon Cartwright stared longingly at his latest possession, he felt the soft warmth of anticipation spreading through his loins. His eyes slowly travelled up her shapely legs, and across her flat stomach, until they reached the gentle peak of her breasts, just visible under her white blouse. He paused there to savor the way they subtly rose and fell in time with her short hard breaths.
“Relax, Linda — you’re hyperventilating.”
She complied with his order, and gradually her breathing slowed. Even so, when his eyes reached the soft curve of her neck, he could clearly see a vein jumping in time with the wild beating of her heart. He brought his eyes a little higher, around the firm line of her chin, to the softness of her lips. He thought they looked a little dry.
“Lick your lips.”
She obliged instantly.
“Good girl. I can see we’re going to get along just fine.”
He looked away from her beautiful face, partly to check the time on his watch, but also to avoid looking into the slack dullness of her eyes. He hoped that in time those eyes would come to life, particularly as she came to accept his mastery over her. For now, he preferred to avoid ruining his view. Anyway, he thought, it was almost midnight and his plan to disassemble the Wrecking Crew was under way. Simon Cartwright smiled. Soon he and Linda would be able to leave for the airport.