Return To Zero E-Book

Isobel Starling

• Herausgeber: Decent Fellows Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Life takes a darker turn for Sam and Declan... Pulled into a world of secrets and lies for the man he loves, Declan Ramsay’s life has changed immeasurably in the eight months since meeting, and falling for his boss’s son, Sam Aiken. Declan journey of personal discovery is about to take a darker turn, and for Sam, the world becomes more treacherous than he could ever have imagined. Two agents are missing -- presumed dead, while on a reconnaissance mission at an outdoor adventure center in the Scottish Highlands. Sir James Aiken sends his son and Declan to follow the trail, and discover the fate of the agents. As the mission offers his first chance to use the skills he learned on the MI6 training course in Morocco, Declan is keen to get started. However, Sir James sees to it that the seeds of doubt and discord have been sewn between the couple, as they begin their mission. The journey to their Highland location, and the discoveries they make when they reach the G’wan Adventures center, prove that Sir James Aiken has been less than honest with his son. Events in the Highlands force Sam and Declan to face their greatest fears, and understand what they both really want from life -- and from each other.

Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

CHAPTER 1

PACKAGE

CHAPTER 2

UNIT

CHAPTER 3

AMAZING SAM

CHAPTER 4

SEEDS OF DISCONTENT

CHAPTER 5

THE SAUSIE THIEF

CHAPTER 6

A SORT OF HOMECOMING

CHAPTER 7

RISE AND FALL

CHAPTER 8

ALL DOWN HILL

CHAPTER 9

INTO THE WOODS

CHAPTER 10

OPENING THE WOUND

CHAPTER 11

FOX

CHAPTER 12

G’WAN ADVENTURES

CHAPTER 13

DICK AND DARLING

CHAPTER 14

THANK YOU, SIR

CHAPTER 15

WIRED CONNEXIONS

CHAPTER 16

SHADOW FALLS

CHAPTER 17

BAIT

CHAPTER 18

TO THE WIRE

CHAPTER 19

THE SHATTERPROOF BOND

CHAPTER 20

I’M GONNA BE THE MAN…

CHAPTER 21

THE WORLDS END

CHAPTER 22

ZERO TO HERO

EPILOGUE

Return To Zero

SHATTERPROOF BOND #3

Isobel Starling

WWW.DECENTFELLOWSPRESS.COM

Copyright © 2016- 2023 Isobel Starling

Second Edition

ISBN: 9783757947248

All rights reserved worldwide. This book may not be reproduced, in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the Author, except for the purposes of reviews. The reviewer may quote brief passages for the review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between characters and any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

The mention of or reference to any companies, products or film reference to ”The Princess Bride”(1987) and the book of the same name by William Goldman in these pages is not a challenge to the trademarks or copyrights.

#NOAI

Return to Zero, Copyright © 2016-2023 Isobel Starling

Cover Art Design by Isobel Starling

To my family, for their love and support

The story so far…

Falling in love with his boss’s son was never going to be an easy path for thirty-two-year-old Scotsman, Declan Ramsay. Not when the boss in question is former MI5 operative, Sir James Aiken.

Declan’s life has changed immeasurably in the eight months since meeting Sir James’s son — the blond, talented and mischievous, Sam Aiken. Declan has been pulled into a world of secrets and lies to be with the man he loves. And Sir James has promoted Declan, so that he can partner Sam as a field agent for the covert side of Sir James’s agency, A.L.L.

A month after his recruitment, Declan was sent to Morocco for six weeks of operations training, under the guise of being an MI6 recruit. On his return from the training, Sam Aiken is bewildered by the change in his partner. Declan’s buzz cut, trimmer physique and new found confidence in his bisexuality had turned Sam into a horny, gibbering wreck, and the couple’s first Valentine’s day together is spent indulging in sexy role play.

But this period of happiness cannot last forever, not when Sir James Aiken has his own plans for the pair. Declan’s journey of personal discovery is about to take a darker turn, and for Sam, the world becomes more treacherous than he could ever have imagined.

****

“Westley and I are joined by the bond of love, and you cannot track that, not with a thousand bloodhounds, and you cannot break it, not with a thousand swords.”

The Princess Bride’ by William

CHAPTER 1

PACKAGE

Declan Ramsay sauntered into the bedroom carrying two mugs of tea, one mug with the text “I’m His!” emblazoned, and ”He’s Mine!” on the other. The mugs were one of Sam’s many silly Christmas purchases, along with ‘His’ and ‘Mine’ towels, T-Shirts and, of course, underwear. Declan had initially been annoyed with himself, at how adorable he found the saccharine sentiment. However, he’d grown to enjoy using the mugs for their morning cuppa. He handed a mug to Sam and sat down on the bed beside him, sipping from his own. “Well, has he been in touch?”

“Nope, not a peep,” Sam said “Not one email from James in any of my accounts,” He absently scrolled on his computer tablet, sipped his tea and then put the mug on the nightstand. “Really, there’s no need to fret. To be honest, I actually think we should just be grateful and enjoy a rare period of peace and quiet.”

“But, d’ye no' think it’s a wee bit… suspicious?”

Sam laughed mirthlessly “Not at all! James is a spy to his bones. Everything he does is ‘suspicious.' I’m well used to my father’s disappearances. He did the same trick all through my childhood,” He said, an icy edge to his voice. “I lost count of the times Belle, and I would say ‘Goodnight Daddy,' tootle up to bed, and then find mum in one of our beds in the morning because he’d vanished during the night… She always hated sleeping alone.” Sam said wistfully. He paused for a moment, lost in nostalgia.

“Anyway, you can be damn sure he’ll be in contact when wants something.” Sam sighed out “God; my poor mum must have really loved the bastard. I just don’t think I could be with a man who disappeared like that.” Declan coughed. Sam saw Declan’s sarcastic narrow glare out of the corner of his eye and bit his lip.

“I did it once okay! I am not going to turn into my father, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Sam protested.

“Thanks for the reassurance, Darlin’,” Declan said dryly, as he leaned in for a kiss, still privately amused by Sam’s protestation.

It had been a whole month since Declan returned from Morocco, his skills improved and his masculine swagger reinstated. During his training, Declan had come around to thinking that life as an agent would actually be just what he was looking for. He’d been keen to get to work on something that would add a little variety to his life, and utilize more of his brawn and brain cells, rather than dealing with over-privileged wealthy people, day in day out. On his return Declan had been restless, pumped, and ready for whatever James decided to throw at him. However, Sir James Aiken did not call or respond to his messages. To say Declan was disappointed would be an understatement.

Now, Declan was back on the nine-to-five at Aikens, with Sam by his side as an interpreter. After a few days of silence, he was annoyed, after a week he was frustrated, but after a month with not a word from Sir James, he took it as a personal snub. But, no matter how many times Sam reassured him it was completely normal behavior on James’s part, like a jilted lover, Declan fretted and still secretly waited for a call or an email from his boss.

“Darling, take it from me, there is no point in trying to seek acceptance from James. I should know. I spent years trying to win his approval, to be the son he wanted. But no one is ever good enough. No matter how well I perform on a mission, in his eyes, after each mission, everyone returns to zero.” Sam said knowledgeably “And the gay thing… Ehh, let’s just say we’re not his favorite people.”

“God, even just a chance te do an assignment would be a fine thing,” Declan huffed in frustration. “I just want a chance, is all. I dinnae see the point in the training if he wanted me te be a sleeper agent,”

“But, actually, that’s what I wanted. I told him I wanted an ordinary life, job, relationship. I know it sounds daft, but maybe he’s just keeping to our bargain… for once, and allowing us a touch of normality?”

Declan hadn’t thought of that. It would mean that somewhere under that thick ruthless hide, Sir James Aiken had a beating heart, and a little love left for his only son. The front door buzzer sounded. Declan stood up automatically and strolled to the intercom in the hall.

“Hullo,”

“Parcel for Samuel Aiken,” The gruff male voice said. Declan peered at the CCTV image on the wall tablet screen, of a courier wearing a Swift Co tabard.

“Hang on a minute” Declan replied, “You expectin’ anythin Sam?” He hollered. He would not be fooled a second time. Sam sauntered out of the bedroom, bare-chested, with dark gray jersey pyjama trousers hugging his prominent hip bones.

“Let him in,” He directed, so Declan did as he was told and pressed the button to unlock the downstairs door. Sam and Declan stood either side of the closed front door, both on edge, expecting… something. Had James sent them a message at last?

They both startled and sniggered at each other, at hearing the hard thump on the front door. Sam took a quick look through the peephole to see the courier — a grey-haired, slightly obese Asian man in his early fifties, with Fred Flintstone stubble on his chubby face. He held a package the size of a shoe box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, in an old fashioned way. Sam opened the door and was immediately knocked back by the scent of sweat and cigarettes. The man smelled like he had bathed in kebabs. If this was an attempted assassination, the courier’s armpits would surely do the job. The man shoved a clipboard in Sam’s direction. He browsed the delivery note attached. The ‘sender’ address box was empty.

“Where d’ya pick this up from mate? I weren’t expectin’ nuffink,” Sam said in a rangy East London accent.

“I picks up from the depot and delivers. Don’t know nuffin’ abaht where vu packages comes from, not my business,”

“Well, it had better not be tickin’” Sam joked, his expression gormless. The courier snickered and put the box to his ear.

“Nah, prob’ly a pair of shoes, or somefink — nice surprise from your lady love?”

“Yeah, prob’ly,” Sam mimicked. He signed an illegible squiggle, took the box, and was immediately surprised by its lightness. “Cheers mate, have a good one,” he said, giving the clipboard back, and then closing the door.

Declan observed the wall mounted tablet screen as the courier left, and the main entrance door sealed behind him. He then opened the apartment front door and checked the hallway and staircase. Nothing had been left behind. Declan felt a little melodramatic and over-cautious with his behavior, but he had a strange gut feeling that something was afoot, something that would bring more sweeping changes to his life. He couldn’t put his finger on it. Declan had felt this tinge of something ever since coming back from Morocco, like he was still in a holding pattern, waiting for permission to land. Sam didn’t seem to be unduly concerned about James lack of contact, but the past few months had seen a huge shift in the way Declan lived his life, and his self-esteem. Long hidden memories had been uncovered by the ‘interview,' and the flashes of remembrance that Declan couldn’t dare talk about, made him feel unnerved and uncomfortable.

Sam sauntered into the kitchen and retrieved a pair of scissors from a drawer filled with miscellaneous kitchen implements. He put the box on the kitchen island worktop and cut the string. There was one branded Swift Co courier label on the front of the box and no return address. Sam made an incision at the side of the brown wrapping paper and then cut along one side, so as to keep the adhesive tape and any fingerprints or DNA that may have gotten stuck to it, intact. He slid out a cream coloured shoe-sized box. Sam looked curiously up at Declan, who stood silently beside with his arms folded.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Sam asked witheringly. Declan held his palms up in surrender,

“Nah, yer grand. I think The Amazing Sam’s got this one” he snickered.

The box displayed no visible wires, there was no ticking sound, and the box was feather-light. Sam thought that he would feel completely foolish about the cautious way he approached opening a package if it were empty, but he’d been trained to be cautious. He returned to the drawer filled with kitchen implements and retrieved a pair of plastic barbecue tongs.

“You know I love you, right?” Sam said dramatically as if they were to be his last words.

Declan shook his head at the ridiculousness of the charade and pursed his lips.

“On three. Ready?” Declan nodded, “One…” Sam flicked the lid up, and Declan reflexively stepped back covering his head with his arms.

“Ye said on three,” Declan whined, feeling like an idiot. Sam snickered with relief at the lack of fireworks. He used the tongs to remove a sheet of white tissue paper that covered the contents. When Sam saw what the box contained, he gasped and stepped back.

“What?” Declan said in alarm, seeing Sam’s complexion turn ghostly pale.

“Nothing” Sam flattened his expression and then reached to replace the lid. Declan stilled his hand and took a look. The box held a noose made from red paracord rope. Just like the rope that had been secreted into his pocket at the Coburg Bar, nearly three months earlier.

“I’m going out. I’ve got to get this to the lab” Sam said coldly, his stare detached and light-years away.

Declan was suddenly overcome by a wave of frustration. “What the hell’s this about Sam? Jesus, I don’t even know where the fucking lab is!” he roared furiously.

Sam was shocked by the anger in Declan’s tone. He felt a prickle of guilt for behaving all ‘cloak and dagger’ with his partner — the one person he was supposed to trust. Declan had every right to know about the A.L.L lab and warehouse.

“Get dressed,” Sam directed, and then he turned and left the kitchen.

****

CHAPTER 2

UNIT

It was ten-forty-five a.m. on an overcast mid-March day, a Saturday in fact. Declan had planned to do what everyone in a relationship does on a Saturday — spend lazy time with their significant other. Declan liked to spend his Saturday enjoying a little food shopping, maybe stop by a Café for brunch, and then a pub for a pint, maybe watch a game of footie or Rugby, and then deal with mundane chores at home, so everything was spick, span and in its place for the coming working week.

Declan liked his Saturdays with Sam. He liked every day with Sam, but Saturdays were becoming special, because they were relaxed days, when they were away from the office and could behave like a couple in public. There was a strange intimacy to shopping for food together. Declan loved having a partner to cook for, and he adored the ‘umm,' and ‘ahh’ sounds Sam made when he tasted whatever recipe he’d decided to experiment with. Declan really could not have asked for a more perfect taster. And so, the fact that this pleasant routine had been disrupted, and they were now in the Range Rover heading for Heathrow Airport, had Declan out of sorts.

“You have your work ID with you, yeah?” Sam said casually, between tapping on the steering wheel and happily chair dancing to the song on the radio.

“Aye.”

“Good” Sam began to sing along to the song. He had a surprisingly pleasant singing voice.

Declan listened to Sam sing for a moment, but could not deny the pull of what was bothering him. He was disturbed by the sinister noose in a box that sat on the back seat, and he was frustrated by Sam’s behavior — the initial horrified reaction to the box, which had then dissipated to adorable ‘singsong’ nonchalance. Declan was sure Sam was faking the carefree attitude, and something more was going on, but now wasn’t the time to challenge him.

Declan had expected his assimilation into A.L.L to be more ‘textbook’, like a spy movie. Do the training, get the ID, the gun, get sent on a mission and kick’ bad guy’ ass. But, delays, miscommunication, and real-life, made everything feel disjointed and unprofessional — if he even knew what ‘professional’ meant in the spy game. Declan had no idea where James’s HQ was, no idea who the hell worked for the organization, what their resources were, or who was on their client list. Could it all be artifice? A game designed by a man with far too much money, and time on his hands? Declan needed concrete proof that all he’d been told was true. He’d wondered about the storage warehouse that Sam had mentioned in an off-the-cuff manner many times in the past months. Maybe, at last, he would understand just how much of a player A.L.L really was.

Sam turned the vehicle off the M4 motorway, and they traveled east of Heathrow Airport, towards Uxbridge. Declan retrieved his phone from his pocket and pulled up a Google map of the area. It appeared their location was somewhere between Heathrow and RAF Northolt. Declan’s jaw nearly hit the floor when, minutes later, Sam turned off the Uxbridge Road, into the Union Business Park, and to the gates of the self-contained site for Allwayz Self Store. He stared at the name in disbelief and then started laughing.

“What?” Sam asked, as he lowered the window and swiped his ID card through a card reader slot.

“It’s called A.S.S. Ass Storage!” Declan blurted.

“Yeah. I’m afraid your hot dick’s wearing my ass out. I came to pick up the spare.” Sam joked. They both roared with laughter and then shot each other an incendiary, knowing look.

Declan glanced around, he’d been expecting Sam to take him to a large lock-up, but this place was massive — an industrial, two storied warehouse facility, with storage on the ground floor and office space on the upper. Sam drove into the car park, which had bays for around fifty vehicles, and most of the bays were full… on a Saturday.

“What the hell goes on here?” Declan asked,

“Primarily, it fronts as container storage, but it’s a multi-use facility,” Sam paused for a moment and focused on finding a parking space. “We have an admin and a planning department, who deal with the details for covert ops — everything from cover ID’s to booking flights and hotels. There’s also an Internet technology management department. They deal with off-book DPI. There’s also a forensics lab and a tech lab on site.” Sam reeled off the information in the same leisurely way that Declan did while showing a house.

“What the hell is DPI? Sounds dirty.”

“It means Deep Packet Inspection.”

“Aye, still sounds dirty. Do I get te do it to you?” He said, wagging his brows.

Sam sniggered “I hope not! We employ the best data analysts for that! James offers a far better wage and incentives package than the government. Our analysts filter online information for a number of uses — mainly surveillance for counter-terrorism. The work is strictly classified, and we sell on our findings to governments around the world. It’s all very hush-hush.”

Declan’s mind was officially blown, and he struggled to comprehend how huge this snippet of information was. Sam parked the car, and when he’d retrieved the carrier bag containing the shoe box, they sauntered towards the glass double doors of the front entrance.

The reception area looked a little tired. There was a small seating area, a low table with a pile of Allwayz Self Store marketing leaflets fanned out across it, two side tables on which large potted Yuka plants stood, and a water cooler with — surprise, surprise, no cups. The walls were cream accented with mocha. Framed posters advertising A.S.S hung at jaunty angles as if they had been knocked off center and never righted. Declan’s immediate impulse on seeing them was to give each a quick adjustment. He tightened his jaw. The A.S.S reception was in dire need of redecoration, but Declan thought that maybe ‘dated’ was the look they were going for.

A lone security guard in a navy blue uniform stood behind the reception counter, kept company by a bank of CCTV screens. He was in his late forties, with thinning, wiry, chestnut hair and a weather worn, sallow-skinned face.

“Lewis, good to see you,” Sam said in a jovial manner. The man nodded in recognition and offered a restrained smile as he eyed Sam, and then Declan.

“Are you two… together?” He asked, his accent musically Welsh, and on Sam’s nod, he retrieved a large, red, hard-covered ledger book from behind the counter and opened the cover, as if to present the visitors signing page to Sam. Sam placed his hand on the tablet screen that was secreted inside.

“This is Agent Ramsay’s first visit. He’ll need to be put on the system and allotted a unit,” Sam said. Lewis nodded.

“Very good, sir,” He replied to Sam. “Do you have your ID, sir?” He said flatly, addressing Declan.

A breath caught in Declan’s throat. He was taken aback for a moment at being named as ‘Agent Ramsay.' His balls tightened in his pants, and his cock twitched with an OHYES! He liked that title, very much indeed. Declan gave Lewis a cursory once over. The man was definitely an ex-serviceman; Declan could smell it on him. He expected James recruited many of his staff from the military. As requested, Declan removed his A.L.L identification from his breast pocket and passed it to the security guard. It was swiped, and then Declan was also asked to lay his hand on the book tablet screen. When his hand had been scanned, the ID card was returned.

Lewis tapped on his Desktop keyboard and then met Declan’s eye. “Unit sixty-five, your initial password is Magenta, sir. Change it by simply imputing the word, then pressing zero three times and imputing your new password. Best to use letter and number combinations” He advised. Declan nodded and followed Sam as he then proceeded to a red side door that was labeled as STAFF ONLY. Sam stood at the door and looked back at Lewis, who then gave a slight nod and pressed a button beneath his counter to release the door. Sam and Declan entered.

The door led them to a long, enclosed white corridor, Declan noted the security camera’s above the door they had just passed through and the one they headed towards, ten meters away. When they reached the door, Sam clutched the handle and looked up at the camera and nodded. The door buzzed and Sam pushed it open.

They stepped out into a pitch black space, Declan was momentarily disorientated, and then overhead illumination triggered and blinked to life, blinding them both for an instant.

The vast main warehouse space was filled with hundreds of tightly-packed one story high intermodal steel shipping containers. The low ceiling above was an industrial map-work of wiring, ducts, and pipes — some of which originated curiously from the tops of many of the twelve meter long containers.

They were completely alone, and the isolation of the place unnerved Declan. The tip-tap of their booted feet was the only sound in an otherwise eerily silent space. The air was frigid and smelled damp, with a hint of car exhaust fumes, and musty decay in the mix. They strode past a forklift truck sitting idle in a side bay, along with several heavy-duty platform truck trolleys. A couple of luggage trolleys that displayed Heathrow Airport advertising, and were obviously pilfered, were lined up against the gray block wall.

Declan followed Sam away from the arrivals bay, and down narrow passageways between the shipping containers. Strip lighting above was triggered by their movement, blinking on to precede their saunter. Declan noted that the containers had a range of different doors, some sliding, some with built-in traditional front doors, and some retained their heavy steel doors and bolted flip locks.

Sam paused outside unit forty-six. It appeared to be three rust red containers welded together and had a black, solid steel front door with a traditional letterbox, and a numbered keypad on the steel wall for entry. Sam’s fingers swiftly typed in his code, and then he opened the door. Again, movement triggered sensors, and recessed lighting flickered to illuminate the interior of the conjoined shipping containers. Sam dipped down as he entered, to pick up a bundle of mail from the floor.

Curious, Declan followed Sam inside. He was amazed to see that they were standing in what looked like a modern apartment. The containers had been fitted out to an extravagant, high-spec finish, with polished cedar on the walls and ceiling, and oak strip flooring. A plush gray L-shaped couch sat off center, with low, teak coffee table, and along the back wall, shelves were laden with reams of books, interspersed by several security lockers. There was a bijou fitted kitchen, in chrome, and red Perspex, and further into the compact space, a bedroom and bathroom. Declan immediately noted the comfortable ambient temperature of the room, and the filtered, sweet smelling air that has a certain Sam-ness to it. He closed the door behind him.

Declan was stunned. “Oh my God, this place is incredible!” He had known Sam, in the flesh for nearly eight months now, and he hadn’t even suspected that Sam had his own place hidden away. Talk of a storage unit always brought forth images of an industrial space and stacks of boxes to his mind, never this.

“Have ye lived here?”

“I have. It’s got high-speed broadband, cable, under floor heating, air con, a bathroom, and kitchen — handy when I need to disappear for a while.” Sam placed the bag containing the shoe box on the coffee table and tossed the mail there too.

“I’ll say”

“I just need to pick up some clothes while I’m here, take a seat, relax, and put the telly on if you want,” he said offhandedly, and then strode towards the bedroom.

Declan did not want to sit down, he wanted to look at all of the fascinating design features, and discover just how many ingenious storage spaces there were secreted in the walls. He glanced at the letters on the table, addressed to Stefan Boche, Alexander Westley, Sebastien Laurent, and Nathaniel Cooper.

Declan continued to peruse the shelves. Books were arranged in groups by subjects, languages, countries, history, folklore, fiction. Seeing the books on Escapology squeezed at Declan’s heart. To think of young Sam avidly reading them in a bid to get his father’s attention was just wretched.

“Is every unit like this?” Declan hollered,

“God, no, I got this fitted off-site and brought in. A birthday gift from Dad, I supposed. This was what I did with the money he gave me for my eighteenth”

“Shite. All I got was a gig ticket and some CD’s.”

Sam’s private space and its spick and span order was a huge turn-on for Declan, proving they were indeed a perfect match. Declan other brain wondered absently if Sam had ever fucked anyone here. He strode past the compact fitted kitchen, and into the bedroom, where Sam had opened a slide-robe and was selecting suits, shirts, shoes, and comedy underwear to take back to Mayfair.

“Sorry, I just thought I might as well kill two birds… give me ten and then we’ll go to the lab,” Sam said, tossing a rather fetching Prussian blue suit onto the bed.

Declan’s mind was buzzing with questions, and he was a little unnerved that his usually talkative boyfriend, appeared so emotionally distant.

“D’ye ever bring anyone else here?” Declan quizzed, leaning against the doorjamb.

Sam barked a mirthless laugh, “God, no! To the outside world, this unit doesn’t exist. Apart from the designer and team who fitted the place out, you’re the only one who I’ve bought here,” He said. “Obviously, James knows I have a storage space here, we all do, but, what we do with them, and store in them, is strictly private.”

Declan’s cheeks flushed at the fact he was the only one Sam trusted. He was buoyed by the rush of warmth at feeling chosen… special. He wanted to stride over to his lover and thank him for the compliment in the only way that ever made sense. But the undercurrent of unease he felt from Sam made him decide it was not the time.

“I’ll go deal with the password on my unit, come get me, yeah? I have a feelin’ that if I got lost in here, no one would find mah body!”

Sam snickered softly, his attention primarily on selecting garments. “You could be right!”

Declan’s storage unit was not as impressive as Sam’s. For a start, it was a single shipping container and had a metal slide door, that sounded eerily like the slip of a guillotine blade when dragged open. The noise echoed around the cavernous warehouse, sounding louder than it should, because of the expansive silence of moments before. The interior of the shipping container had been lined with drywall plasterboard and then painted white. But that was all. It was a shell with lights and power sockets, and behind a door at the far end of the container, a small toilet, and sink area. Declan had no idea what he was going to store in the unit. He’d been keeping his belongings in his parent’s garage, at their house outside Edinburgh. He mulled for a moment about getting a van to bring his belongings down, but no. This new clean space would represent his new life and be strictly for things associated with his covert affairs. It would be fun to kit the place out.

“Wow, this is what I call a blank canvas!” Sam said, his voice making Declan startle and turn.

“Aye, looks like I need te stop by Ikea,” He laughed.

“On a Saturday? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Sam gasped in faux outrage.

Declan locked up, and reset his password; then they moved off. Sam was dragging a large, gun-metal gray suitcase filled with his belongings, and holding the carrier bag containing the shoe box. Declan was led down yet more vacant corridors formed by storage containers on either side. The blinding glare of industrial strip lights above triggered as they walked and after a minute blinked out behind them. If Declan was honest, the place creeped him out. It was like a black hole. The warehouse could be anywhere in the world, anonymous and secret. If sum’dy wanted te bump me off, no one would know, nobody would hear me scream. He shuddered. Was this where I was interviewed?

They turned into a wider avenue, passing Shipping container after shipping container painted in muted green, navy blue, and rust red. Declan was sure, from the feel of the place, that they hid many secrets. At the far end of the corridor, a red light flickered above an inconspicuous doorway. Sam swiped his ID card at the console, and Declan followed suit. The door opened, and they walked down another long, white corridor. Declan heard the distant ringing of telephones and voices chatting.

When they exited the storage area, Declan saw that he and Sam were standing in a windowless, open-plan office space. A bank of around thirty desks were grouped in two’s or three’s, with suited workers sitting at computer’s, imputing data or speaking a myriad of languages into mic headsets. It was like they had stepped into an international call center.

No one paid them any attention. Sam strode down the wide thoroughfare between the desks towards yet another door, with Declan at his side.

“What goes on here?”

“Oh. These are the snoopers I told you about.”

Declan had always thought that Sam hated his work and that deep down he was a pacifist. He’d also wondered about Sam’s political leanings, and believed him to be quite liberal. But now, with the nonchalant way Sam spoke about being surrounded by analyst involved in DPI as if they were online shopping, Declan wasn’t so sure.

They continued their unhurried stroll, passing through another secured doorway, and then up a staircase to the first floor. Here, the corridor had the appearance of a medical facility. Linoleum floor, white walls, and recessed lighting. There was no grand sign stating that they were now at the A.L.L. Laboratory, there was no signage at all, anywhere, — denoting that if you needed a sign, you had no right to be there! After swiping their ID at yet another door, Sam and Declan arrived at the reception area, where a male secretary sat behind the bullet-proof glass of his office booth, and stared at a computer screen.

When the man met his gaze, Sam leaned into the grille in the window and said,

“Agent Aiken for Dr. Goldblume” The secretary nodded and phoned through the request. Sam paced, and Declan leaned against a wall, his eyes mapping the setup, noting the positions of security camera’s, entrances, exits, and the gaudy ‘expressionist’ artwork that adorned the walls. He wondered why the lab had such high security, and such horrible art. Sam strode over and stood beside Declan.

“Who’s Goldblume?”

“Forensic specialist, an old family friend, my Godfather actually. His specialty’s trace evidence, so if there’s fingerprints, hair, or skin cells on the package, he’ll find them.”

The white door to the left of the office booth opened, and an elderly, slender black man, wearing a lab coat, brown corduroy trousers, and a sky blue shirt beneath, sauntered out. He was a little shorter than both Sam and Declan. He had bright, intelligent eyes, and an aquiline nose on a face that must have been devilishly handsome in his youth. But now he wore signs of aging, and many sleepless nights, in the droopy pug- like bags under his eyes. Dr. Jonah Goldblume opened his arms, and Sam stepped forwards.

“My goodness, Samuel to what do I owe the pleasure?” He said a distinct South African accent ringing true.

“Are you well, Jonah? Sorry to cut the small talk, but I need you to look at something for me, as a matter of urgency.”

“Yes, yes, I’m good, of course, come into the lab. We can talk in there.” It was then that the man paused, and noticed the tall, brawny, bearded man beside Sam. He eyed Declan curiously.

“Oh, Jonah, this is Declan, Agent Ramsay, my partner. I’m giving him the grand tour.”

“James has given you a partner?” Jonah exclaimed, and his bushy brows met with confusion.

“I know, it’s a shocker” Sam joked “I chose Agent Ramsay… Declan and Dad agreed. Whodathunkit!” Sam shrugged. Jonah exhaled theatrically and shook his head, an expression of disbelief etched on his face.

“You make sure you have his back Diklan. This boy is precious to me,” Jonah warned, offering his hand to the Scotsman.

Declan could not have agreed more. He met the doctor’s dark, wise eyes and gave him a good, firm handshake. Appearing satisfied, Jonah turned back to the white door. Sam and Declan followed, passing through another card swiping station, and into the clean room, that then led to Jonah’s laboratory.

“Have you heard from your father recently?” Jonah asked conversationally as he washed his hands beside Sam, “The ratbag hasn’t turned up for our regular poker game, three weeks in a row now!”

This information was curious. Jonah was one of James’s ‘real’ friends, and James was a stickler for the niceties of social etiquette. He usually would have called, or at least sent a gift basket as an apology for not making an event.

“I’m sure he’s out of the country. You know what he’s like,” Sam said, batting any concern away. He turned off the tap, dried his hands, and then shrugged into a lab coat.

Declan smirked at the sight of Sam and himself in lab coats. He was sure that Sam knew enough bullshit to fake it as a doctor. He wondered if he had ever given that rouse a try. Jonah backed in through the swing doors to his lab, and the agents followed. Sam offered the carrier bag to Jonah.

“This was delivered to my home this morning. No return address. I’d like it analyzed for trace DNA. I need to know who sent it.”

Jonah reached into a box of blue surgical gloves and drew a pair on to his hands. He pulled the shoe box and brown wrapping paper out of the bag and walked over to a glass chamber, placed the box and paper inside and sealed the door. He tapped on a keyboard beside the chamber, and ultraviolet light illuminated inside, making tiny particles of dust, skin, and hair show up as white dots.

“Who has touched the items?”

“As far as I know, just me and a courier,”

“I touched the box lid” Declan piped in.

“I’ll take samples from you then Diklan, if you’d be so kind. I already have Sam’s” Declan repressed a smile at again hearing his name pronounced with a South African accent.

“What does the box contain?” The doctor asked.

“A red paracord noose” Sam answered, his eyes meeting the arched, measured glare of the doctor’s.

Declan noted the way Sam and Jonah’s gazes lingered as if they communicated something he was not party to.

“Sam, it’s impossible” The doctor replied cryptically, his voice was soft and reassuring “But, I will test everything as a matter of urgency — so you can at least sleep at night.”

Declan was confused. He looked at his boyfriend and noted his barely concealed expression of anxiety. Something big had happened, and for some reason Sam was scared. Declan locked down his frustration at being out of the loop, and unable to support his partner. He didn’t want to make a fuss in front of Sam’s Godfather. He didn’t know if the man knew Sam was gay, or if Sam even wanted to share that they were a couple. He tightened his jaw again. The questions would have to wait… again!

****

Palpable silence filled the interior of the Range Rover as Sam drove them back towards Central London. They were halfway home before Declan burst.

“What the hell’s goin’ on?” he said from between gritted teeth.

“Oh, nothing for you to worry your... head about,” Sam said airily, catching himself before he’d said the words ‘pretty little’. He bit his lip and kept his eyes firmly on the road.

“Don’t you dare patronize me! Who the hell de’ ye think ye’ are?” Declan roared. Sam swerved, alarmed by the sudden outburst. Silence descended again, and the atmosphere was heady with testosterone.

“Honestly. There’s nothing to worry about,” Sam insisted after a minute.

“Don’t give me that shite. D’ye think I’m stupit? That package freaked ye out.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and he remained uncharacteristically close-mouthed.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---