Chapter 92

Chateau Martinè

The Coven looked serious, and tired. They'd obviously been working on this, the next phase in our destruction of the corruption in the UK.

2 took to the lectern first. "Boss, we're ready to do some real damage now, and we've been thinking about, and planning for, this new phase of our operations for some time. We call this 'Operation King'. In the musical 'The King and I', is a song, 'Getting to know you'. Well that's what we want the public to feel about their local police forces. We want the public to get to know what their police are really like. To this end, we're going to feed information to the press, and we're going to carefully stage a few 'accidents' which will show even the thickest of the council estate squatters, that the police are being led by men worse than those in prison." 2 nodded and stepped out of the way of the projector and screen. A picture of a smiling young woman appeared. "This is our test subject. We're going to feed her 'facts' and let her make of them what she will. I could be dangerous for her, but the rewards, both for her and us are stupendous."

"Does she know anything about us and what we're doing?" I asked.

"No Boss, and that's partly to protect her, and us, but also it will give her more confidence in the data that she discovers if she believes that she's finding this stuff out for herself."

I thought for a long hard minute, "OK, run with it." Then I rose and headed for the door. I had important work to do, Susan was due to be fed and changed.

"Yes, Boss," answered 2, "Don't you want to know her name?"

I stopped thought. "No, I'm going to hate myself enough for the bad things that happen to her. If she died because I said to use her like this, I don't think I would ever forgive myself. No, I'll find out her name when she lives and makes a name for herself exposing these bastards."

"OK Boss," said 2. I could feel that she too thought of this pretty woman as a living breathing person rather than a pawn to be used and placed to its best advantage, not really caring if that pawn should be removed from the board in the battle between two giants.

Cumbria

The speeding white van flipped and sailed nearly twenty yards before hitting the road's hard surface nose-first when it landed. Both rear doors sprang open on the landing impact and the van's contents started spilling out onto the road as the van continued its destructive roll along the narrow road. From the rear of the van things came tumbling out, some seemed to just stop and drop to the road like stones. Others were thrown high into the air, spinning furiously as they flew for forty or fifty yards. One clear plastic bag split open and white powder was thrown across the road. Another plastic bag was thrown clear, this one larger and firmer. It was sliced open as it smashed against the broken door hinge. Suddenly the air was filled with fluttering pieces of paper. Money, tens of thousands of pounds were scattered across the road and hedges. Then a larger box was ejected, it too smashed open on landing and its contents littered the road. These things though, were bright-yellow reflective jackets. And they had a single word printed on their backs.

POLICE

One of the first people to arrive at the scene was Sally Kinsman, a reporter for a local newspaper. Actually she was almost part of the scene. The van had raced straight in front of her at a fork in the road. She'd been angry at that but was glad that the stupid fool was in front of her rather than behind her trying to overtake. She was out of her car and on the phone to the emergency services before she really realised what was going on. Having called for help, she grabbed her camera, press credentials and voice recorder and ran to the scene.

The van lay on its side in a growing pool of petrol, one wheel still spinning and the engine making loud 'ticking', clicking noises at it rapidly cooled. A hand appeared through the driver's door window. Sally started the camera's HD movie mode and set it on a roadside fence post. She hung her jacket over it, partly to protect the camera from the light drizzle, partly to prevent the thieving bastards who always turned up to things like this, from stealing it. Though when someone else turned up, Sally would turn back into a reporter of events, rather than a participant in them.

Talking two steps from her camera, being careful, of course, not to get in the way of its filming, she stared in total shock at the face that appeared through the broken door window on top of the van. She had watched that face every day for three weeks, every day of the trial. Geff, 'Legs' McGuire had been convicted of four counts of arson, one leading to the death of an elderly shopkeeper, 18 counts of grievous bodily harm, most involving him breaking the legs of his victims, hence his nickname, and 22 counts of demanding money with menaces. 'Legs' McGuire had been sentenced to life in prison with a recommendation that he shouldn't be considered for parole for the next 8 years.

He had been sentenced three months ago. So what was he doing driving in a white van that looked, to Sally's experienced eyes, exactly like an unmarked police van?

The van exploded. Not the fireball so beloved of Hollywood, but the nasty, vicious, killing wall of super-compressed air, the rush of white water vapour squeezed out of air suddenly compressed denser than steel. Sally was blown back past her camera. She lay dazed on the ground; she'd heard Old Bert, her editor, talking about this effect from when he'd been a war correspondent. 'The real danger, ' Bert always said, 'Wasn't the outward rush of air. It was the vacuum that that rush caused. Then, if you weren't careful you could get sucked back into the fire. THAT was the real danger.'

Hardly knowing what she was doing, Sally grabbed at the fence post and held onto it for her life. The returning wind sucked the air from her body and she felt that she was going to suffocate, but rather that than burn to death. Strangely, stupidly, she wondered if she'd remembered to turn her iron off after she'd used it to press the skirt she was wearing.

Then her attention came back the present and more immediate things. She heard a thin high-pitched shrieking, then another voice joined it and she knew that she was listening to two people burn to death. Sally, still clinging desperately to the fence post, hid her face and started singing as loud as she possibly could, to block this terrible sound from her ears.

"Miss, MISS," called a kind voice, "You can let go now."

Sally looked up into the eyes of an ambulance man, a paramedic. He held out a red blanket to her. Sally let him wrap the blanket around her and watched slightly distractedly as he treated burns on her legs.

"My camera," said Sally.

"In just a second or two, Miss, I can see it and it's nice and safe. It's a nice one that, I've got one from the same range, not as expensive as that one of course, not on my pay..."

Sally watched him as he worked at spreading a cream on her legs, then something that looked like cling-film, then bandages. All the while, he continued talking to her. Deep inside Sally knew she was going into shock. While she'd tried to be 'Sally - the hardnosed reporter, ' she knew that she'd reached her limit today. She wondered if she could carry on.

The paramedic gave Sally her camera and jacket, and then helped her into a wheeled chair. He and his partner, a middle-aged woman who hadn't spoken to Sally, lifted her easily into the ambulance, and moments later they were on their way. No two-toned sirens though. Sally was glad about that. It meant that she wasn't hurt badly; they could take a bit more time getting to hospital.

Sally lifted up her hands and looked at the deep grazes on one palm. The other palm had a little white powder on it; she remembered being thrown through some by the explosion. Had it not been for her being shock, Sally would never have done what she did next. She licked the powder off her palm.

The two or three tiny crystals of very nearly pure cocaine almost blew Sally's head off. She'd tried cocaine when she'd been in uni, hadn't everyone? But it had never been as good as this. This stuff must be nearly 100% pure. Sally laid her head back. She was going to be alright. She was absolutely certain of that now. After all, the way she felt, nothing and no one could stop her now.

Chateau Martinè

I sat back in my chair watching the ambulance recede into the distance, hurrying to the local hospital. It had taken us nearly three weeks to arrange this 'accident'. I switched my view back to the van itself, and the people hurrying around it. There was a large police presence, which was only to be expected, two Fire Brigade trucks and two, now one, ambulances. The remaining ambulance would be used to take the bodies of Geff McGuire and his co-driver, Archie Peaches, to the mortuary.

It had taken a lot of time and effort to stage the crash right in front of this reporter, but more than one of Prof's people had said that she was honest and had played straight with them in the past. She was also in the right county and commuted along a quiet road to work, everything that we'd been looking for. Here was a scoop, or whatever the press called it now-a-days, right in front of her.

We had people at the scene, driving her ambulance (I smiled at that thought) and at the hospital where she was headed, just to look after her. And drop a few hints should it be needed, though we now knew that Sally was an intelligent woman and would most likely puzzle this one out for herself. Sally had all the clues we could provide. Now she had to work out the scenario that we'd planned.

Cumbria

Sally's legs had started to hurt by the time she was wheeled into A&E. She was taken straight into a cubicle, the majors Sally knew, and she waited for a doctor to appear.

A youngish woman appeared, "Hello, I'm your doctor," she said while looking at Sally's notes. These notes had been taken by the woman in the ambulance on the way to the hospital and included the usual blood pressure, pulse and temperature.

Putting the notes down on a handy trolley, the doctor turned to Sally. "May I have a look at your legs?"

Sally looked up at the doctor; she was taken by the thick gold choker that the doctor wore around her neck.

"Yes," Sally answered a little dazed.

Quickly and painlessly, the doctor unbandaged Sally's legs. She gave a few noncommittal 'Umms' and 'Arrrs.' But she was gentle but very thorough.

"I'm afraid that these are going to hurt for a few days, maybe even as much as a fortnight. I'd like to keep you in overnight, have to be a private ward, the main wards are full." She looked up from her note writing and smiled at Sally. "OK?"

Sally nodded, "Will there be scars or anything?" she asked a little nervously.

The doctor shook her head. "While it's really hard to say one way or the other, I don't think so. These look like what you would think of as first-degree burns, it is the large area that I want to check. I would expect that you'll be off your feet for a day or so and then walking with only a little discomfort after that. By the end of a fortnight you should be fine." The doctor looked at Sally again, "I do want to know if there's any pain or any blistering though. So a night's observation and I'll have a look at you in the morning." With a smile the doctor left.

Sally lay back on her bed. She'd forgotten to ask for some pain killers. How on earth could she forget that?

A nurse came in carrying a small tray. "The doctor said you'd probably want a little pain relief. Please can you tell me your name and address?"

Sally told her the necessary details and was given two small tablets and a paper cup half full of water.

"Doctor said that you can have more to drink when you get into your room. She's putting you into a private room, I think she may be worried about infections."

Sally nodded, "Thank you, nurse," she said.

"Oh that's a nice camera. Doctor had one just like that stolen from here on her first day. Furious about it she was. Said there was stuff on that memory card that she just couldn't replace. Heaven help the thief if she catches up with him," the nurse laughed. "She's a bloody good doctor, but one of the old school. Doesn't mess about, likes everything in its place and demands the highest standards from us. It certainly makes a change, I can tell you. I like working with her, she's reminded me of why I came into nursing in the first place."

With a smile the nurse left the cubicle, closing the door as she left.

Sally looked at the camera beside her. She remembered the accident, and a few puzzling things about it. She picked up the camera and extracted the compact flash memory card. Feeling in her jacket pocket, she found another CF card and slipped it into the camera. She put the card with the film of the crash site in a ring pocket in her jacket's lining. She lay back wondering why she suddenly felt nervous.

Sally was moved up to a private room, and two nurses made sure that she was settled in. One hung her clothes in the small wardrobe, while the other helped her pull wide-legged pyjama bottoms on.

Bertie came round about half an hour after she'd settled in. "Heard you got blown up Sal'," he said with a laugh. He opened his shirt and showed her a very old scar which extended from his left armpit to his waist. "Flash burn, bit worse than yours I think, but," he held out his hand, "Join the club, girl. You're a real reporter now."

With a smile Sally shook his hand. While Bertie was treated as a bit of a joke at the paper, everyone there respected his experience. They all knew that he'd rescued children in Kosovo and been blown up in the Balkans, that always raised a laugh. Bertie usually treated his colleagues as though they were still serving their apprenticeship, even those who'd been on the paper for years. But now here he was and treating her like an equal.

"Bertie, in my jacket," Sally pointed to the wardrobe, "Inside right-hand side ring pocket, there's a memory card, take it and keep it safe. Something's going on and I think that I may have filmed something big at the crash site." She paused and leaned towards him, "Bertie, Legs McGuire was in that car. And take my jumper; it's got some powder on it. I think it's cocaine, I'm bloody sure of it. Get it analysed."

Bertie nodded. Yesterday he'd have laughed had any of the other reporters told him a story like this. But, well, Sal' had been blown up and she still remembered things about the crash site. And, if what she said about her jumper was correct, well then, she'd be looking at a major award for this.

More quietly than Sally believed he could possibly move, Bertie went to the wardrobe and took her jumper and the memory card. He looked at the jumper for a couple of seconds and then slipped it on under his jacket. With the jacket for concealment it didn't look odd, just a light blue jumper. Bertie left his own jumper in the wardrobe for Sally to wear.

With a wide grin, he held up the memory card and then slipped it inside his trousers. He fiddled for a moment while Sally watched quietly bemused, and finally got himself comfortable. He sat down next to the bed again less than a minute after he'd risen.