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The Rebel Candidate E-Book

Isobel Starling

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Herausgeber: Decent Fellows Press
Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
Sprache: Englisch
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

Sam and Declan are done working as field agents. The successful Vienna mission ended with a little bonus - a memory key that contained compromising material about Sir James Aiken. The plan was to use it as a bargaining tool to extract them both from A.L.L...but fate had other ideas. Returning to London they walk into their HQ and find a massacre. James is missing. Neither man will be leaving A.L.L. until James is found dead, or alive. They get to work, digging into James' past. Who are The Alphabet Club? Where in the world is Sir James Aiken imprisoned? Can they save him? And do they want to?

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Leseprobe

Inhaltsverzeichnis

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

UNRAVEL

CHAPTER 2

HOME COMFORTS

CHAPTER 3

OLIVER

CHAPTER 4

ROSALIND

CHAPTER 5

THE MESSAGE

CHAPTER 6

MRS K

CHAPTER 7

HER SECRET

CHAPTER 8

THE LAWYER

CHAPTER 9

THE NOTE

CHAPTER 10

THE UNIT

CHAPTER 11

FLOWER OF SCOTLAND

CHAPTER 12

PROLOGUE

Agent Sam Aiken and his husband Declan Ramsay both believed it was pure madness to keep an assassin locked in a cell at the A.L.L. subterranean London facility, no matter how high the security measures were.

On the steps outside the compromised headquarters, their eyes met. There was something visceral in the knowledge the men shared—the wordless understanding—they knew that what they’d feared had finally come to pass. James’s enemies, whoever they were, had made their move. Knowing how the prisoner in the basement operated, neither would enter the house at Holland Park without a firearm.

Sam felt somehow detached as he viewed the surreal events that had taken place at his father’s home. What struck Sam first was that there was so much blood in a human body, and seeing the rivers of bright crimson spilt over the once pristine polished marble floors of his father’s hall was anathema, foreign, and horrifying. He couldn’t allow himself to think deeply about Mr Steele, the dead man he found at his feet when he eased the front door open.

Having donned Kevlar vests and with loaded guns at low ready, Sam and Declan had stepped into the hallway and began to investigate what had gone so tragically wrong at Sir James Aiken’s London mansion.

They’d discovered Sam’s sister, Annabelle in a downstairs bathroom about to give birth to her first child. Between violently painful contractions she’d told of the arranged lunch date with James and that when she’d parked outside the house there was a woman at the front door—a woman in black leather with long silky black hair—and when the butler, Mr Steele had opened the door she’d shot him in the head. From Annabelle’s witness statement, they knew Erik Madsson had received assistance to break out of his cell and so they proceeded with extra caution.

Declan alerted the Unit facility near Heathrow that their HQ was compromised and they needed an ambulance. Then reluctantly, the agents had left Annabelle and gone down into Sir James Aiken’s basement complex.

Following fresh blood, they were led by drag marks from their boss’s office to the body of Agent Ranier Strauss. But the blood trails did not end with their fallen colleague. The blood continued into the subterranean garage and across the mottled grey concrete with its scuffs and oil leak stains, past the lines of luxury cars, SUVs, and motorbikes used by those who worked at the headquarters of the security agency. The blood trails led to the innocuous metal door painted in poppy red gloss on the opposite side of the echoic basement garage.

The mansion house was located beside the fifty-four-acre Holland Park and was once owned by a member of the British Government. Like the lost rivers buried beneath the London streets, the underground tunnels rumbled deep below and wove themselves into the history of the metropolis. The London Underground tunnels had famously sheltered sixty-three million Londoners from bombing raids during World War II. The first tunnel from the Holland Park house was constructed in September 1939 at the outbreak of the war. A door at the back of the then-wine cellar led to a tunnel and to the red metal door that signified a staff-only entrance to the underground system which the government minister used as a bomb shelter. On purchasing the property Sir James Aiken expanded on the idea and over many years he designed and built a vast super-basement complex beneath the house and garden, some of which ran beneath Holland Park itself. The usage of the complex and true size wasn’t even known to Sam.

A passing Tube train rumbled under foot bringing Sam to a stark awareness. The train sounded louder than usual. This was because whoever assisted Madsson had forced the red door open and they’d made their escape with an injured or even dead captive into the London Tube tunnels.

Sam and Declan ground to a halt and stared at the gaping darkness beyond the red door.

“Ye do know there are around two-hundred-and-fifty miles of Tube tunnels underneath London,” Declan said ominously.

Sam realized in the blink of an eye that not only was his father now missing, but his and Declan’s dreams of freedom lay in tatters. They could not leave A.L.L.—not while Erik Madsson was free, and James was missing. Sam stared at the cavernous darkness leading to the London Underground and in a disconnected voice said,

“My God. They could be anywhere!” He inhaled a despairing breath of foul air, his firearm still aimed towards the darkness in case something malevolent lurched from it.

“Turn around slowly. Lower your weapons… Desert Fox, Lucky Boy.”

Sam was surprised that he hadn’t heard anyone approaching from behind and secretly admired the woman’s light footedness. The voice was American, steely, and determined. It was the kind of voice that came with a raised gun attached.

“Identify yerself,” Declan said coolly, his gun still raised as he turned aiming his weapon at the woman while Sam’s remained trained on the open doorway. Declan took a step to the left so he and Sam were back to back.

“Codename, Luna Willow,” she replied.

Declan hadn’t been with the agency for long when compared to Sam and didn’t know every agent James employed. He turned his head a little and asked, “Safe?”

“Yes, she’s one of us,” Sam replied. He addressed the agent in a louder tone. “Are you alone Lopez?”

“I have seven agents with me and the cavalry’s en-route from the facility.”

Sam turned away from the gaping door to face the A.L.L. agent. Both he and Declan lowered their weapons, but the other agent wasn’t so trusting. She kept her revolver aimed at them. Agent Lopez was Latino, her dark black hair cropped in a masculine style and oiled to her scalp. She wore the uniform black suit and white shirt combo with a tactical vest.

James had instructed that if by a rare occurrence, the HQ was ever breached; the police were not to be informed. He deemed that his own people were sufficiently experienced to investigate. The protocol was that if the basement was breached the silent alarm would be triggered, with the lighting in the complex turning blue. All employees were to remain in their rooms until the backup arrived from the Unit and cleared the basement in a room-by-room sweep. The initial team led by Agent Lopez must have arrived not long after Sam and Declan began their descent into the basement. However, from the determined glare on the agent’s face, the first team was not clued-in on the truth of what had occurred.

“On your knees,” Lopez said with a dangerous tone to her voice. Did this agent think Sam and Declan had gone on a killing spree?

Declan sent her a scalding look. “Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me? I was the one who sent the distress call. Madsson’s escaped. He’s been on the rampage. An’ he’s not alone. They’ve abducted Viper and the fuckers got away through that door behind us that leads to the Tube network!”

Sam was in a daze. He came back to himself at hearing his husband’s roars of frustration ringing around the underground car park. Agent Angelica Lopez stood erect and gave him an unreadable look. Sam recognized the agent’s face. He’d never worked with her but recalled James chose Lopez for several of the U.S. assignments, including a mission to clone the laptop of Dr Tobias Hunter. The agent lowered her weapon, turned her head, and spoke into a comms device.

“Luna Willow to Control, over.”

“What’s your 20?”

“Viper Code Red, repeat, Viper Code Red, Over.” Then addressing them both she said, “Sorry guys, the intranet was attacked and automatically shut down. We came in blind.”

Four armed agents entered the car park and began checking beneath vehicles to secure the area.

“Report,” Lopez barked at the three men and one woman.

“Two fatalities on the first floor, both male staff members. We found Viper’s daughter in labour in a bathroom. The rest of the staff was locked in the pantry.” The female agent relayed. Sam let out a sigh of relief at hearing the rest of the staff weren’t harmed.

“We’ll need to do a room-by-room sweep of the complex, but secure the perimeter first. Lockdown all entrances and exits.” Lopez ordered.

One of the agents closed the red door. Sam couldn’t deny his relief. He strode across the garage towards Agent Lopez.

“Where is Mrs K? Who’s on Control?”

“Agent Nighthawk is Control Leader today. We can’t locate Agent 47.”

That was…unusual. Where the hell was Akiko Kimura? Sam felt a shift in his brain, like a machine coming online, and with his adrenaline pumping; he knew what he had to do. If Mrs K wasn’t around to deal with this he had to step up and take charge.

“Tell them to activate protocols to boost Viper’s intramural tracker and send the loaded tracking app to my phone. Declan and I are going into the tunnels.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Agent 47?” Lopez enquired suspiciously. Mrs K was technically second-in-command, and with James out of the picture, she was supposed to give the orders.

“He’s my father,” Sam snapped with the kind of haughty venom he’d heard from James many a time. He regretted the tone immediately, and in a less abrasive voice said,

“Instruct Control to continue attempts to locate 47, but we don’t have time to wait. I need to find my father. They’ve got maybe a ten-minute head start. Please…relay the information.” Chastened, Lopez nodded.

Declan couldn’t hide his concern. He took Sam aside as agents continued their search of the car park, ensuring there were no other incumbents or devices left to give them a nasty surprise. Since Declan had saved Sam from a dark, lonely death in a sinkhole in the Scottish Highlands Sam’s physical scars had healed, but the psychological scars were never far from the surface. Sam had once enjoyed the submission of restraint in their love making, but he couldn’t bare it any more. Ropes and cuffs were a trigger, as was pitch darkness. The thought of Sam going into the tunnels and having a panic attack was a possibility Declan could not ignore.

“Are ye sure you’re up to this? It’s okay if ye want to step aside and let other agents search the tunnels. No one will think any less of ye!” Declan suggested as he laid a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. Sam’s expression was pained as he fought against the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

“He’s my dad,” Sam said softly. “This is what he’s trained me for…I’m a tool…a weapon…and his only son. I can’t back out of this. I have to go into the tunnels,” he said, resigned to his fate.

“Very well, I’ll no’ argue. I’ll be with ye every step. What do ye need?”

“We’ll need two armed agents to take point. Find comms devices and high beam torches for us.” Declan gave Sam another squeeze, nodded and moved away towards the newly arrived agents from the facility who were filing into the car park with cases of tech equipment.

Sam turned back to Lopez who was still relaying information to Control. When she was done he said, “As 47 isn’t here, I’m ordering you to take the scene of event lead and to activate emergency protocols”. She nodded and barked orders to several agents.

Declan returned clasping two comms devices and torches. When Agent Lopez had finished dealing with her team, Declan moved to her side and in a low voice said, “Can ye find out what’s happening with Annabelle? The ambulance will need to take her to the Portland Hospital.”

“She’s doing okay. She has a medic looking after her while we wait for the ambulance.”

Sam joined them and added, “Please ensure Mr Steel’s body is removed from the hallway and the blood is cleaned up. The ambulance crew cannot know that anything is going on here, apart from a woman in labour.”

“On it!” Lopez said, and then she turned and called to an idle agent and tasked him with moving the butler’s body.

Sam was distracted from his train of thought when his phone pinged in his pocket. Retrieving the device he found a link for the tracking app and then logged on using his thumbprint. The app displayed their location on a grid map.

Declan was soon joined by two burly agents with body cams clipped to the front of their vests, both were armed. Sam inserted his earpiece and Declan clipped the mic to Sam’s Kevlar vest. He caught Sam’s gaze and held his steely pale green stare. Declan knew that look; Sam was terrified, for himself, his father, and his sister.

“Good te go?” Declan queried unable to hide the concern in his voice. Sam grimaced and nodded. Declan reached out and pulled his husband into a hug, not caring that they were surrounded by agents setting up a base in the garage.

“I’m with ye all the way, love. We’ll do what we’ve got te do.”

Sam sank into his husband’s bulk, and even though he wanted to stay there and let the world go to hell around him he sighed, pulled away, and gave his husband a wan smile. He turned to the additional agents who introduced themselves as codenames: Phoenix and Lightening. Phoenix was built like a rugby player and his accent was Northern English. Lightening was a tall wiry German. They were both in full tactical gear and appeared keen to get going.

Sam pivoted to Declan and shared a look of despair mixed with determination. They needed a resolution here to be able to move on with their lives. They had to find James and throw a spanner in this grand plan once and for all.

“Phoenix, Lightening you’re on point, Lucky Boy, I need you at the rear with your eyes on the geo-locator,” Sam relayed, passing his phone to Declan as Declan swapped it for a high-beam torch.

“Desert Fox to Control,” Sam said to the mic on his vest.

“Ten-four, Desert Fox,”

“We’re good to go.”

“Copy, over, and out.”

Agents Phoenix and Lightning clicked their body cams on, then lit up their head torches and finally the tactical torches on their rifles. Sam and Declan readied themselves, standing to the left of the closed red door.

“Okay everyone, silence,” Lopez called to the other agents and techs setting up workstations around the garage. Sam looked to Lopez who nodded.

“Go!” Sam ordered and Phoenix dragged the red door open so that his partner could enter first with his assault rifle at a high ready position. A gush of warm air rushed out—a revolting mix of dampness, engine fumes, and decay.

“Clear” Phoenix called from the entrance and stepped onto the metal stair landing, the dull clang of his boots echoing. Lightening went next, then Sam, and then Declan. Beams of torchlight sliced through the darkness from the head and tactical torches. With weapons raised, Phoenix and Lightning turned left taking stairs down into the cavernous maw of the tunnel.

Sam used his high-beam torch in wide arcs to illuminate the ornate Victorian brickwork above in a bid to anchor himself in reality. This isn’t a cave, and there’s no sinkhole here!

“Blood!” Phoenix’s deep northern voice drew Sam back to himself.

“Where?”

“All over t’ stairs…a trail of droplets leads into the tunnel ahead.”

Sam looked down, and yes, on the stair treads, there were dots of glistening red liquid. Sam wondered what kind of wound had been inflicted to make James bleed like this. Was it a broken nose or something worse? Head wounds always bled profusely. His father’s blood had led them in drag tracks from his office, like the trail of breadcrumbs left by Hansel and Gretel. Now the blood was in droplets that fell left and right on the stair treads. Sam recognized this was caused by a hoisted swaying body. At the top of the stairway, Madsson had stopped dragging James and instead lifted his victim. Nausea came on quickly and Sam lurched and tripped over his feet, grabbing the railing to steady himself. He remembered the feeling in his drugged state, of being hoisted onto Madsson’s shoulder during his abduction in the Highlands. The memory of the man’s physical strength, the musky scent of his sweat and his long regular loping strides were like a body blow. Declan reached out and placed his firm hand on Sam’s shoulder to steady him.

“Y’alright?” he asked at Sam’s back.

“Yes, yes. I’m okay, sorry.” Sam inhaled deeply through his nose to try and calm himself and then at once regretted it as he breathed in the funk from the bowels of London. “I’ll be okay,” he reassured, his voice sounding too loud to his ears. Declan let go and Sam moved on.

“Madsson wasn’t as weak and injured as James believed him to be,” Sam stated. “He lifted dad from here and carried him,” Sam said grimly as they reached the foot of the stairs. Torchlight dissevered the inky blackness ahead and displayed the arched opening of a brick tunnel with a sloping concrete floor that would take them downward…deeper underground. Sam steeled himself and strode on behind Lightening and Phoenix into a waking nightmare.

****

The phone in Declan’s hand let out a sharp pinging sound that echoed off the curved walls. The agents on point ceased their advance.

“The Geo-locator’s just updated,” Declan informed. “I’ve got the map of the tunnels.” “This tunnel leads to another stairway around five meters ahead, and at the bottom of the stairs there’s a service tunnel for Holland Park station.”

“For now, we’ll follow the blood,” Sam directed.

“Copy that,” Phoenix replied as he and his colleague moved off, their tactical torches illuminating the gloom. The four men moved to the end of the tunnel and then made their way down concrete stairs following the blood trail that appeared stark against the rough, gunmetal grey surface. At the bottom of the stairs was a short tunnel constructed from red Victorian brick. The darkness was met by the first beam of a head torch.

“Have you picked up Viper’s tracker signal yet?” Sam asked warily.

“Nope, not a sausie,’” Declan replied resignedly.

Phoenix and Lightning stepped carefully forward, broken glass crunched underfoot. One of the agents sent their torch beam to the ceiling. Sam saw that the strip lights in this service tunnel had all been smashed.

“We’re on the level for the station now. Can ye feel that?” Declan commented. The ground beneath their feet rumbled violently. The air quality changed swiftly as a rush of warm displaced foul smelling air washed over them and an underground train sped past in one of the adjacent tunnels. The lead agents moved on, their booted feet shattering glass with each step. A few meters ahead, Phoenix’s deep northern drawl echoed, “Here, the blood stains lead to the right,” He turned into an offshoot tunnel.

“I’ve got a signal fer Viper,” Declan announced as soon as he turned into the tiled tunnel.

“How far ahead?” Sam asked.

“They’re on the move—” Declan pinched the screen, the gesture enlarging the map, “—in the tunnel heading to Sloane Square Station”.

Sam opened Comms. “Desert Fox to Control. Over.”

“Go Desert Fox, over.”

“The target is on the move. Get the Swift Response team to Sloane Square, that’s the closest exit at ground level. Over.”

“On it. Over.”

Sam then asked, “Was Agent 47 located? Over.”

The response was immediate. “Agent 47 took the private jet three hours ago. It just landed in Copenhagen. I’ll inform you when she checks in. Over, and out.”

Sam turned and shared a querulous look with Declan. He’d received the same information on his Comms and Declan’s ash-grey eyes had narrowed, saying exactly what Sam was thinking. How suspicious that Akiko was scarce when a deadly attack occurred on the HQ? Did Mrs K know an attack was imminent, or did someone make sure James’ most loyal and feared agent was out of the country?

Sam followed down yet another tunnel his mind a whirl. Several minutes later his thoughts were interrupted by a voice in his ear.

“Control to Desert Fox, over.”

“Copy Control.”

“I’ve got your location on my screen. You’re walking the route of the River Westbourne,” she informed as all of the agents listened in on their devices.

“The River Westbourne is one of the three lost rivers. It was redirected underground into culverts to aid the redevelopment of Kensington and Chelsea. The river now runs through man-made tunnels and it’s used to direct sewer runoff and flood water into the Thames. A combined sewer and pipe storm drain run through a conduit above the platform of Sloane Square tube station. Over”.

“They must be heading fer the underground river to find an exit,” Declan said excitedly. Sam didn’t share Declan’s enthusiasm. He hated being underground and was trying very hard not to think of the state they’d find James in—if they found him at all!

“Egress at three o’clock,” Lightning called out. Sam sent his torch beam to the right. Further down the tunnel on the wall, a rusty metal door hung open and the malodorous scent of filth hit Sam’s nose. A swipe of the torch along the walkway showed the trail of blood terminated at the rusty door.

“Where are we?”

“Street level is Sloane Terrace. The underground river conduit surfaces at Sloane Square then goes back underground,” Declan explained as he showed Sam their location on the map overlaid with James’ geo-location tracker.

“Got it,” Sam said decisively. “Phoenix, Lightening, clear the doorway.” The agents pressed their backs to the damp fetid tunnel wall. Phoenix opened the door wider and Lightning pushed his rifle around the door jamb and then moved it around to illuminate whatever was on the other side.

“Clear. We’ve got a ladder into the waterway,” Phoenix relayed, then without a fuss, both agents entered the river tunnel. Sam heard the eerie echo of boots clanking on metal and then splashdown into the river.

“Rats pish an’ jobbies, oh my!” Declan exclaimed. “Fuck! I’m so not dressed fer this!” he complained. The other agents kitted out in full waterproof tactical gear had vanished into the river tunnel.

Sam turned and offered his husband a weak smile. “The glamorous life of working in counter-intelligence, ay!”

Declan pushed the phone into his tactical vest pouch and then took Sam’s torch so his husband had both hands free to climb down the slippery ladder. When Sam splashed down into ankle-deep water he said brightly,

“It’s not so bad, it’s quite shallow. It would be a different story if it had rained this week!”

Declan stared down at the murky stream of the River Westbourne and grimaced. “My brogues are gonna be ruined, aren’t they!”

“Not just your brogues. I think we’re going to have to strip and burn everything when we get out of here.”

Declan passed the torch back and Sam used it to give Declan a clear view of the ladder. He climbed down and cursed as his feet sank into slippery sludge to his ankles. Water wasn’t the problem, it was the mud. He lifted a foot and fought with the suction to keep his shoe. He wiggled his foot, pulled it free, and moved into the stream of water flowing down the centre of the tunnel. “Gods, I never thought I’d be wading through shite fer James!” he grumbled.

Things had become real very quickly and Sam hadn’t even begun to process the ramifications of what occurred at the HQ and why. He knew Declan owned a whole rack of expensive footwear in his walk-in closet at home, and the shoes he was wearing were, in fact, the cheap brogues from his Tobias Hunter disguise. Declan was fussing about his shoes and behaving like a grumbly bear to distract him. Sam was grateful for it.

The agents ahead sent their torches to light up and down the brick tunnel created by the Victorians to redirect the river underground so they could build on top of it. There wasn’t much to see as the darkness met the light. Red brick, pea-green algae staining the walls and sticky mud silted either side of the limpid stream. The smell was revolting and there was no alternative but to breathe in the fetid air. Tide marks half way up on the tunnel walls showed how high the water became when the backwash from the Thames filled the tunnel, or when the sewers overflowed during rain storms. Sam recalled being stranded when several stations on the inner London Tube network flooded during a rainstorm because the old Victorian drainage system could not cope with the demands of the modern city. Even though their present circumstances were unpleasant, during a storm trying to navigate the underground river Westbourne would be the stuff of nightmares.

The phone lodged in Declan’s Kevlar vest pinged. He retrieved it and checked the Geo-location map.

“I’ve still got Viper’s signal. They’re at the Sloane Square culvert and still on the move. We’re around a kilometre from the Thames.”

Sam felt like he’d been underground forever, and had walked for miles when in reality, they’d been down there for less than an hour. The team began wading along the river in earnest, the incessant drip-drip-drip of water, and the splash and squelch of booted feet in the sticky mud echoing eerily in the enclosed space. The materials used in each of the sections of the river tunnel changed as they progressed, from stone to brick, then to more durable concrete and steel as the river tunnel was reinforced.

Minutes later they trudged from slippery brick beneath their feet to walking on a slimy metallic surface that clanged like cowbells with each booted step. Torchlight bounced off the sheet steel walls and the ceiling displayed uniform lines of welded rivets.

“We're in the river culvert above the rail tracks at Sloane Square Station,” Declan told the team as he watched Sam trudge on ahead. Declan had seen the culvert from the train platform but never guessed that a river ran through it. The steel shaft was six meters wide and three meters high and from the station platform Declan recalled that it appeared like an innocuous piece of railway architecture painted with thick dark green gloss paint.

“Shite! Viper’s tracker’s still moving. The target didnae take the exit, they’ve gone back below ground.”

“Damn it,” Sam exclaimed. “Desert Fox to Control, Over,” he said into his Comms device.

“Copy Desert Fox, what’s your 20, over?”

“We’re in the Westbourne culvert above Sloane Square. The target didn’t go for the exit. He’s still moving underground. Mobilize the team and tell them to stand by. Over.”

“On it. Over and out.”

Once they’d passed through the wide culvert the agents came to sluice gates with a metal stairway on either side. Water continued to dribble around gaps in the closed gates, trickling along a steel sheet slope and back into a Victorian brick arched tunnel. A passing glance of torchlight revealed blood droplets on the grey metal runners of the staircase to the left of the gates.

“Look, here, and here. We’ve still got the blood trail, but the drops…they’re becoming less frequent,” Phoenix noted. Sam hurried to the agent’s side to see the evidence. He was right. Was the wound closing up, or did Madsson change his carrying position to stop the trail of blood?

When the agents splashed down into the river bed at the bottom of the staircase they discovered that the mud and water here were past their knees.

“Guys. Stop fer a minute an’ listen,” Declan called. They all paused.

“From here it’s approximately a kilometre of straight tunnel,” Declan explained. The four men stood, waited, and listened. The incessant drip-drip of water was the only sound until a distant splashing sound rushed up the tunnel. The sound was repetitive.

“Did you hear that? Someone’s running in the river channel. He’s not far ahead!” Sam pressed the button for his mic.

“Control, we can hear him ahead of us. We’re in the stretch of tunnel past Sloane Square heading to the river. Mobilize the team and send them to the Embankment. Over.”

“Copy, over and out.”

To agents, Phoenix and Lightning Sam said, “Jog on ahead, and see if you can catch up with him.” The men nodded and set off. Sam and Declan were not shod for running in a silted tunnel and so they waded on behind in determined silence. Minutes later the scent in the air changed. Phoenix and Lightning were out of sight by then, their torches no longer visible.

“We must be close to the Thames by now,” Sam suggested. He saw a bend in the tunnel and after taking the turn found the two agents.

“Shite. Lads. The signal stopped moving.” The team crowded Declan to look at the map on the screen.

“Where?”

Declan pointed to where the signal remained stationary. “I’d guess they’re around six hundred meters ahead.”

“Control. We’re beneath Ranelagh Gardens, close to Chelsea Bridge. Over.” Sam relayed.

“Got it. The team are on their way! Over.”

James could be lying in the rancid mud, dead or dying. Time was of the essence.

Phoenix and Lightning jogged on ahead with confident steps. Sam and Declan weren’t far behind. They caught up with the point agents at the end of the tunnel where the River Westbourne met the River Thames taking sewage and floodwater out to sea. Sam noticed that a huge grill made of steel rebar covered the exit for the tunnel, preventing any human from entering, or exiting. Staring through the bars Sam could see that around twenty meters beyond the grill were overcast daylight and the Chelsea—Thames foreshore at low tide.

“Where’s the tracker signal?” Sam asked urgently.

“It’s here!” Declan replied staring at the map.

“It can’t be here.” Sam snapped. “Where the fuck are they?”

“I’m just telling you what the app says.” Declan snapped back.

“Boss. Someone was in here before the assault on HQ. They prepared the route. The bars have been cut through here, and here. The only way to do it is with an angle grinder. The hole’s big enough to allow a person to slide through.” Phoenix informed dourly.

“But the tracker’s still here! I don’t understand it!” Declan’s frustrated exclamation echoed.

Sam didn’t understand either. The tracker said James was there in the tunnel with them. What was going on?

“Desert Fox, come and look at this,” Lightning focused his torch light on an area at the opposite side of the tunnel. Sam, Declan and the other agent joined. They saw that there were fresh footprints and an impression in the mud. The impression looked like a bum print, and beside it, there was a small button device and a puddle of something darker in the silt. Blood. Declan hunkered down and ran the phone over the blood, the phone pinged an alert. He thrust his fingers into the muddy blood and fished around. Amid the scarlet pool, he found the tiny white, rice-sized intramural tracker that had once been in Sir James Aiken’s left arm.

“Madsson cut the tracker out!” Declan revealed.

Phoenix picked up the small device. “I’ve seen this used before. Does Viper have trackers elsewhere…somewhere that cannot be accessed by impromptu surgery?”

“He has a second tracker in his kneecap,”

“Not any more. This device sends a high-frequency signal to burn up an embedded tracker.”

“Fuuhk!” Sam spat. Madsson was toying with him. They’d waded through this hell for nothing. This was exactly what Madsson had wanted. Sam turned in frustration and desperation then trudged to the hole in the rebar. He needed to get out of here. Sam sank to his knees in the mud and slid through the gap.

Declan grumbled unintelligible curses as he placed Sam’s phone in his vest pocket, gritted his teeth, and followed.

Sam was smeared in mud from head to foot as he trudged across the foreshore to where the Thames lapped at his feet. He’d followed two sets of booted footprints to the waterline. Two sets. He did not believe for one moment James had walked to the waiting boat. Whoever had helped Madsson escape his cell was with him all the way and prepared his route beforehand. Sam turned to his left to see the imposing granite and steel of Chelsea Bridge just twenty meters away, and searching beneath the bridge, on the horizon a white speedboat was barely visible and then in the blink of an eye, was gone.

When Declan reached his partner’s side Sam was speaking into his Comms device.

“Control. We’ve just missed them. They left by speed boat heading east. Over and out.”

Sam experienced a confusing mixture of feelings, anger, frustration, and guilt. Wasn’t this what he’d been trained for from childhood, to be the best, most efficient tool in his father’s arsenal? He’d failed. Numbness overtook and Sam looked down at his body noticing for the first time that he was smeared in foul, shitty mud.

“Fuck! We’re gonna have to get to the Swift Response team van, strip and bag everything,” he said distractedly.

“Aye, mebe we should just burn the lot of it an’ bathe in bleach!” An equally muddy Declan replied morosely.

****

CHAPTER 1 UNRAVEL

There was something surreal about arriving at the Mayfair apartment after months away. While Sam and Declan had carried out their Vienna mission thwarting a cabal of Eco-terrorists, their home remained in stasis, as if an omnipotent being had pressed pause on their real lives while they were off doing other things. Now, life was on fast-forward.

Sam walked into the living room and let his gaze wander. He spied the fantasy book on the coffee table he’d been reading months before. The couple’s wedding bands remained hooked over the swords of the Dread Pirate Roberts and Inigo Montoya statues on the mantle. Declan’s rock collection on the bookcase was covered in a fine layer of dust–the cleaner having missed them when she gave the place a quick once-over. Everything appeared the same, mundane, ordinary. Everything was the same, apart from Sam Aiken-Ramsay.

Wearing a Tyvek paper overall and blue plastic shoe covers on his feet, Sam stood straight-backed and inhaled the scents of home. The smell was at once familiar but somehow stagnant and out of place—or maybe it was Sam who was out of place? Sam had experienced this dissociated headspace before in the aftermath of life-threatening situations. The sensation of overwhelm had been growing since they’d entered the Holland Park house and found death and destruction everywhere they looked. Sam recognized the emotional dissonance—in this instance, the belief that he should be feeling something particular, maybe he should be grieving or worried for his father. But now, Sam was home. Yes, I’m home. He focused on the sheer relief of being back here again, in his safe space and finally alone with Declan.

“Westley, you hit the shower first,” Declan ordered as he entered the apartment, dragging both of their wheeled suitcases through the front door and toward the bedroom. Seconds of silence passed and Sam stared into space.

“Hey, love, did ye hear me?” Declan hollered as he passed by the living room on his way to the kitchen. Sam was startled to awareness at hearing his husband’s rough Scots brogue the second time. He moved like an automaton, walking toward the bay window. Sam stepped up and parted the blinds with two fingers. He stared outside across to the Connaught Hotel. The silhouettes of guests and staff members in the rooms opposite seemed so normal. People were going about their daily business and there was no imminent threat. Sam then looked left and right to take in the view up and down Mount Street. Mayfair was buzzing with shoppers, business people and tourists—again, an ordinary day with no imminent threat. The need for constant vigilance was exhausting. Sam wished he could let go, switch off, and forget everything, but the stark reality was that his family was in grave danger. Sam’s father was missing and Belle with her newborn daughter added to the weight of Sam’s new responsibilities. With James no longer around and Mrs K seemingly AWOL, it was all on Sam’s shoulders.

His attention was stolen by the familiar sound of a drawer opening and then sliding closed in the kitchen. He heard the tread of heavy footsteps and as Declan passed down the hall again,

“Ye know,” Declan grumbled conversationally, “it boils mah pish that we were so close to extracting ourselves, so fuckin’ close, an’ now we’re back te square one!” He paused in the doorway to the living room and stilled. Sam turned away from the window and met Declan’s endearing silver-grey gaze.

“C’mon love,” Declan said in a softer brogue, “I’ve put the shower on te heat. The sooner we’re cleaned up the better!”

Sam’s shoulders sagged, that small surrender allowing his twisted tight muscles to relax a little. He sighed and subserviently followed his husband back to their bedroom.

Declan had retrieved a black refuse sack from the kitchen and he stripped hurriedly from the Tyvek CSI suit and shoe covers he’d been given to change into so he didn’t bring the foulness of the sewers into the A.L.L. Rapid Response van. Now naked, Declan displayed his battered and bruised physique for Sam to see. Less than a day ago, Declan had been disguised as Batman and tied to a St Andrews Cross in a BDSM dungeon while his captors, an Eco-terrorist group who used prostitution, drugs and blackmail to fund their activities, had threatened to slice him up for fun. Sam's raked his husband’s body. He’d forgotten for a moment that Declan had been injured during their fight to take down Mads Hendrik. Sam reached out and let his fingers lightly caress a rainbow bruise on Declan’s furry chest. Then he followed the scabbed scratches of the BDSM Wartenberg pinwheeldevice that Hendrik had used to torture Declan with.

“Poor baby,” Sam sighed in a dreamy voice.

“Och, ama big boy, I’ll live. It’s just a few wee scratches. C’mon, get that off!” Declan encouraged nodding towards the white paper suit Sam wore. He shook the trash bag impatiently waiting for Sam to strip.

Sam toed off the foot covers, dragged the zip down, and slid out of the paper overall. The adrenaline boost that had kept him moving during the chase through the tunnels had worn off. And now, standing in his bedroom, naked, Sam was hit by a wave of vulnerability. He looked down at his hands and saw how his fingers trembled, and then he suddenly became hyperaware of tight lungs. Sam was on the bow of a ship in a mighty storm and he couldn’t catch his breath.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” Declan gentled, his voice an anchor. “It’s been a shite old day!”

Sam gave a wan smile at the understatement as Declan stepped forward to offer an embrace. Sam held his hands up defensively and stepped back, “I’ll be okay, I just need a minute,” he insisted.

“Fine, I’ll get rid of this.” Declan scooped the Tyvek suit and shoe covers from the floor and pushed them into the refuse sack. He gave Sam a concerned once over as he tied the bag, seemingly not convinced that Sam was on the level, and then left the bedroom to place the bag by the front door.

Sam stumbled to the warm steamy bathroom and inhaled familiar, comforting smells of his husband’s expensive aftershave and their mingled personal scents. The shower was ready, the pulsing hot water fogging up the mirrors. Sam stepped under the stream. His skin was numb, the same as his insides.

Declan’s concerned face peered around the open shower a second later. “Jesus, Sam!” He exclaimed, “That water’s fuckin’ roasting, what are ye trying te do, cook yersel?” His hand snuck in and turned the lever to a cooler setting.

“D’ye need anything?” he asked, concerned by Sam’s distanced behaviour.

Sam had no idea what he needed at that moment but replied in a very British, “No, no, I’ll be fine”. So Declan turned to get on with his personal grooming routine. Sam stepped out of the water stream and wiped condensation from the mirrored tiles. He doused his face and rubbed at his stinging eyes, fighting to hold back tears. From the reflection in the mirror tiles, Sam could see Declan had moved to stand at the basin and was lathering foam along his jaw line to shave the raspy stubble that had quickly grown in since he didn’t have to wear the fake moustache and goatee for Tobias Hunter’s disguise anymore.

Sam leaned his head out of the shower “Don’t!” he said in a plea. Declan turned and gave him a quizzical look.

“Don’t what?”

“Shave. Please don’t shave.”

Declan nodded, gave a lopsided grin and turned on the tap to wash the foam from his face. Sam stepped back under the shower jets and blindly grabbed for shower gel. He squirted a dollop into his hand, and then rubbed it all over his glistening chest suddenly desperate to be clean and wash away all traces of stench and filth of the underground tunnels. It was then that Sam realized he’d picked up Declan’s shower gel and not his own brand. The woodsy smell surrounded him like a hug, reminding Sam that, yes, he was home, and just like the scent of Declan’s aftershave, it had a grounding effect. It was these mingled scents of familiarity that pushed Sam over the edge. This was a safe space. He could finally, finally let go. Sam’s knees buckled. He folded to the floor of the shower with a wet thud.

“Sam—?”

For a few minutes after they’d touched down at Heathrow airport, Sam was happy to be back in London and to know that, at last, he had bested his father. He was prepared to take his power back, and then he and Declan would release James’s grip on their lives. Sam had longed to come home to the apartment, for them both to peel off their disguises and become their true selves again. This was not the sort of homecoming Sam had envisaged. He couldn’t get the faces of the dead out of his mind. He was consumed by guilt for his failure in catching Erik Madsson in the tunnels, and for being healthy, secure and loved while members of James’s household staff had died solely because they’d worked for the Aiken family. Sam’s father was missing, and yet, when it came to thoughts of James, Sam didn’t feel the ‘right’ emotions that a loving son should feel. Sam was consumed with disgust and hatred for all James had done to make the events at his underground compound come to pass. Some part of his brain was relieved that James was missing. It was a selfish kind of relief, one less burden for him to deal with, one less thorn in his side. But then Sam’s thoughts strayed to Annabelle and the relief morphed into a wave of gut-wrenching sadness that was expressed in a near vomit of tears wracking his whole body. By now, it was likely that James had become a grandfather. Sam wondered if he would ever know.

“Hey… Hey?” Declan’s warmth surrounded Sam as he joined him on the floor of the shower, dragging his slippery wet husband into his arms.

“Jesus, don’t.” Sam tried ineffectually to push Declan away. “I’m… a…fucking… mess,” he said between sobs.

“Christ! Yer not a robot, Sam, you are allowed to have feelings! C’mere.” Declan dragged Sam onto his lap and cradled Sam’s head against his shoulder. Sam submitted and sank into the solidity of Declan’s bulk. The shower rained down on them both as Sam cried.

“They…they didn’t deserve that – Strauss… Mr Steele, Piotr the gardener…” Appalled, Sam paused for a hiccupping breath, “Jesus, I don’t even know the man’s full name.”

Declan rubbed Sam’s back, kissed his sodden bleached blond hair, and listened while Sam worked through his grief.

“We fucking told him!” Sam spat, “We told dad that Madsson was dangerous. We knew he had a plan and would act, but nooo, James thought better, and now—how many, how many did Madsson kill to get to him?” Sam shot angrily.

“Yes, you were right all along, love, an’ I’m so, so sorry.”

“I don’t care if they find him,” Sam gave a slightly hysterical laugh, “Isn’t that awful? I’m his son and I’m not that fussed about finding the scheming bastard. Y’know, for a split-second back in his office, when I saw he was gone I was… relieved to see he wasn’t there. It was like… thank God he’s gone,” Sam admitted.

“Aye, I know what ye mean. Yer da’s a… complicated man, an’ he’s been due a reckoning fer a while now. But, love, he’s still yer da… an’ whoever’s abducted him took the lives of innocent people te get to him. We cannae let that stand. Those people need justice. You know as well as I that their deaths will get swept under the rug as if they never existed. They’re not going te get justice via the regular channels!”

Sam looked up and met Declan’s concern. He threaded his fingers into Declan’s dyed salt and pepper hair, pushing the sodden strands back from his brow, letting out a deep sigh.

“Yes, I know…I know,” he said softly. “They’re the reason we have to see this through to the end.”

Declan reached to grip onto a rail and pull himself up from the floor of the shower, bringing Sam with him to their feet.

“I know it’s still the afternoon, but let’s get washed up an’ go te bed,” Declan suggested, kissing Sam and then reaching for his shower gel,

”We’re both fucking exhausted.”

The spark of familiar heat igniting between them was comforting, like settling in front of an open fire in the winter. Watching his lover, Declan squeezed a generous dollop of gel onto his hand and began to soap up his hairy chest; his love-drunk eyes trained on Sam while Sam watched him right back.

Sam’s gaze followed the lazy trail of fingers as Declan rubbed his hand over bruised ribs and down to caress the defined ridges of his abdomen, then moved to soaping up his hardening shaft and then dipping to wash his balls. After several moments hypnotized by Declan’s distracting hands mapping the planes and contours of his hard muscles, Sam whispered,

“Let me do that.”

Taking a step forward he picked up the shower gel from the shelf. “Turn around.” Sam poured streams of the silky viscous gel over Declan’s back and watched it dribble hypnotically down and over the globes of his firm, muscular arse. Sam put the shower gel back on the shelf, grabbed a pair of exfoliating gloves, and proceeded to knead and caress Declan’s skin using the rough gloves to elicit deep moans of pleasure from his lover.

Sam bent down and caressed Declan’s calves, then his thighs knowing full well that Declan was watching his bent-over reflection in the mirror tiles that covered one of the shower walls.

‘Turn around’, Declan turned on command and pulled Sam’s slippery form to fit snugly against his own. Sam laced his hands around Declan’s hips and rubbed the rough gloves over Declan’s backside, eliciting a growl.

“Gods, I’ve fuckin’ missed these simple pleasures,” Declan gasped with arousal. He kissed along Sam’s neck and threaded his fingers into Sam’s wet hair. Sam’s left hand moved to the front, and the sensation of the rough weave of the exfoliating glove on Declan’s cock made him buck and curse.

“Fuck! Too much!” He took hold of Sam’s wrists. “I’ll bust a nut if you keep doing that!” he complained.

“Fine,” Sam pouted, a little disappointed. Declan stepped back into the stream and washed the suds from his skin and then turned the water off. He stepped out of the shower, reaching for a couple of towels and tossing one to Sam which he snatched from the air. They dried one another’s skin. Declan then rubbed Sam’s hair and grinned with affection when he drew the towel back and saw Sam pink-cheeked, his forest green eyes sparkling. Sam kept his gaze locked on Declan and leaned in.

“Thank you… for being my rock. I love you.”

Declan pulled Sam into a tight embrace “Thank you for being mine!”

“I…I need you,” Sam exhaled in a vulnerable whisper to his lover’s lips. Declan nodded, knowing exactly what Sam meant.

“Let’s go to bed, aye?” Declan turned, scrubbing his hair with the towel, then tossing it into the laundry basket as he strode into the bedroom.

****

CHAPTER 2 HOME COMFORTS

The sheets were cold when Sam slipped into bed. He lay there with his arms above his head looking at the ceiling in the muted light, his hair was still a little damp, but he didn’t care. This is what he needed. Familiarity, routine, and home comforts. Declan was navigating the bedroom and then rifling in a suitcase.

“What the hell are you doing? Come and warm the bed up, its bloody freezing!” Declan strode to Sam’s nightstand and placed his phone on it. Sam wished he hadn’t. The phone was joined by a bottle of lubricant. Sam was glad he’d remembered that!

Declan slid under the covers and yelped, “Christ! It’s fuckin’ arctic. We’ll have te do something about that!” He scooted over to Sam’s side, threw an arm over Sam’s chest, the other under his back, and a leg over Sam’s thighs pulling him into a full-body hug, their bodies snuggling together.

“Ahhh, that’s better,” Sam sighed with pleasure as he wriggled to find the sweet spot. Nestled perfectly, they lay entwined for several minutes, not needing to do anything.

Breaking the silence with a whisper Sam admitted, “I don’t have the words to say how much I’ve missed you, Buttercup.”

“I’ve missed ye too. I’m glad it’s over. Let’s never do that again! Agreed?” Declan squeezed Sam and planted a kiss on his lips.

“Agreed,”

“It’s like, ever since we met we’ve had obstacles thrown in our path te try an’ stop us from being together.”

“But we survived, and here we are,” Sam said sagely.

“Aye, true. But ye know we’re done, right? No matter what happens when we find Jamesy we’re full steam ahead wi our plans. This is our time now.”

Sam was quiet for a second before admitting, “I made some calls and accelerated everything before we left Vienna. Obviously, I didn’t know we would come back to this… but we can be off-grid as soon as dad is located alive.” Sam assured.

“Good—we won’t be short o’ cash either, not with all of the dead drops we’ve done over the past year. It’s reassuring to know we have cash an’ passports stashed in every European city we’ve visited.”

“That’s true, in our business, you never know if we’ll need to move on quickly. We’ll not starve!”

“I’ll call Campbell in the morning Te see how things are progressing WI’ the build. I want te know if they at least got the new foundation down. The weather’s been brutal since they broke ground three weeks ago”,

“In the circumstances, tell him to go ahead with having my shipping containers moved from storage to the location too. It’s sensible to have temporary accommodation ready so we can go to ground quickly.”

“Aye, good idea.” Declan kissed Sam on the brow and ran his palm across Sam’s chest to rest over his heart. “Ye know. I cannae wait to wake up on cold winter mornings and it just be us, all snugly wi’ that stunning view.

---ENDE DER LESEPROBE---

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