We stood at the open grave and watched the dark wood coffin
being lowered into its final resting place. A wind suddenly whipped up and blew
a squall of leaves onto the top of the casket almost as if Nature had decided
to pre-empt the traditional thrown handful of earth by the mourners. A light
rain began to fall completing the dismal and gloomy picture. It was an autumn
funeral with all the trappings.
“He didn’t deserve to go that way,” grunted John Allan. “He
was a true gentleman.”
“Yeah, a real prince,” confirmed Benny Clark. “Too good for
this world.”
As the groups began to break up and meander to the cemetery
gates, I lit a cigarette. The wind blew out my first match but by cupping my
hand round the flame I managed to get the tip alight. I drew a welcome burst of
nicotine into my lungs, held it and then exhaled, sending a blue cloud
scurrying over the moss covered tombstones. Yes, Dave had been the last person
who I had expected to die and what a death, I thought, burnt alive by someone
he knew.
“Jack!” someone shouted over to me and turning I saw Larry
Hislop making his way across towards me. “Jack, I’m glad I caught you before
you left,” he said. “You’re going to get the bastard who did this aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I said taking another drag on my cigarette. “I’ll
start looking right away.”
“If you need funds,” continued Larry. “Just give me a call.”
When I got back to my office I asked my secretary Sheila to
make me a coffee. I always thought clearer after a caffeine hit and the fact I
had got chilled to the bone in that cemetery, I felt I needed some heat inside
me.
As I sipped the coffee I thought back to when I had seen
Dave Andrews last. I was sure that it had been in Dominic’s bar down on Fern Street . The
place was a real dive, but lots of hot gossip went round in that tavern and
often it was as good as using a snitch for information – and it was free.
Dave had been bragging about a friend of his who had managed
to get his hands on some jewellery that he was fencing for a gang. A robbery
had taken place up at Chesterfield
Heights
Returning to Dominic’s that afternoon, I found the usual
crowd there. The atmosphere was blue with smoke and a jukebox played
disconcertedly in the corner of the bar.
“Hey Jack!” someone shouted from inside the haze. It was
Butch Sawyer, an acquaintance of mine from schooldays. “How you doing mate,” he
said. “Let me get you a drink.”
Butch had been the school bully, but after leaving and
getting a job, he had mellowed and now, for some unknown reason, thought of me
as a friend.
“Hi Butch. Yeah, that’ll be great,” I said. “A pint of Ostlers
would go down a treat.”
As my pint was pulled I quizzed Butch carefully. You didn’t
want to stamp down on someone else’s toes – inadvertently. “You remember Dave,
Butch?”
“Dave Andrew?” replied Butch. “Yeah, I remember him. Why?”
“Oh, he was talking about a friend of his, last time I was
in.”
“This isn’t the creep who stole all that money and stones
from the big house?”
“Yes, Chesterfield
Heights.”
“I think his name was Maurice Deston. Why? Have you been out
nicking gear and need a fence to sell it on?”
“No, it was just that Dave was killed recently and I’ve been
asked to look into it.”
“You a private eye now? I thought you were in the Army.”
“You a private eye now? I thought you were in the Army.”
“I took up the profession as soon as I was demobbed,” I
replied unsure of his reaction.
“Good on you mate. What branch were you in the mob?”
“Kind of a pioneer type,” I said, modestly. “Mopped up all
the mess made by the regular lads, after they had left.” I said with a laugh.
The truth was that I had been in a crack team that infiltrated and destroyed
enemy installations before attacks. We did go in after the action as well, but
only to guarantee no one was left alive or building standing.
Butch looked at me with a kind of disgust. “A latrine
cleaner, eh?” he said.
“Yeah, something like that, now, where can I find this
Deston?”
The multi-storey set of flats looked fairly dilapidated and
I could see all but a couple of the flats were empty, as attested by their
broken windows. Butch had given me the address of Maurice Deston and I could see
from the numbers on the side of the building that his flat was near the top. Oh
well, I thought, the lift is bound to be out of order, so I’ll have to climb.
A quick look inside the lift confirmed my suspicions as the
floor was covered with junkies’ needles, empty beer cans and the odd used
condom and the lift’s control panel had been pulled out and the copper wire
removed. So it was the stairs.
As I climbed flight after flight the smell of boiled
cabbage, shit and piss got stronger. It was so strong near the top that it made
my eyes water. I saw the door of Deston’s crib and it looked as if it had been
regularly kicked in. The paintwork was heavily chipped and the wood interior
showed through in various places.
“Deston!” I shouted as I pounded on the door. “Let me in!”
.There was no sound from inside so I pounded again. “Come on Deston, I know
you’re inside!”
All at once, I heard movement from behind the door. “Who is
it?” came a timorous voice from within the flat.
“I’m a friend of Dave Andrew I need to speak to you.”
There was the noise of a security chain being attached and
then the door opened by four inches and a face peeked out of the gap. “What do
you want?” he hissed.
“I need you to tell me the name of your fence. The one you
off loaded all the stuff onto from that robbery you did at Chesterfield Heights
“I ain’t got a clue mate. Never heard a thing about it.”
I kicked the door hard and it whacked him in the face. “I
know you passed the stuff on to him!” I shouted.
Then suddenly Deston’s demeanour changed. “He’s dead! Burn’t
to a crisp!” he cried.
“I thought it was them come for me, when you banged on the
door!” Deston was visibly weeping now. A very scared man.
“Who is ‘them’?” I asked. “What is their connection to
Dave?”
“I gave him one of the stones that I filched. I told him it
looked real fake and wouldn’t sell for much. Dave had done me a favour or two
and I thought that he would like it,” said Deston with a sob. “It has something
to do with Chesterfield
Heights
When I returned to my office I got Sheila to check all the
back copies of the Daily Clarion, our local paper, for the previous couple of
weeks. “You’re looking for fire deaths,” I said to her. “Including Dave
Andrew’s.”
It took her an hour to discover the death of a local felon
called Bill Haston whose burnt remains had been discovered in his house. Oddly,
nothing else in the room he died in was affected. It was as if Haston had
suffered a spontaneous combustion.
Dave Andrew had been
in his garden when he had been killed. The Fire Service who had been called by
a neighbour had surmised that he had got petrol or paraffin on his clothes and
something had ignited them. Although tests for accelerants had been made,
nothing was found to be conclusive.
I scratched my head and wondered what could have caused the
two suspicious deaths.
Sheila had also found an account of the Chesterfield Heights
I realised that I would have to investigate Chesterfield Heights
I packed a rucksack with various items of food and drink as
well as dark coloured clothes and a thick jumper. I envisaged that I might be
out for several nights so had to keep warm during the small hours of the night.
I informed Sheila that I was going ‘dark’ for a few nights.
If there was a reason to contact me, I gave her my cell phone number. I would
put the phone on silent mode but the vibration would warn me of any incoming
messages.
I left the rucksack under a pile of leaves after I climbed
over the surrounding wall of Chesterfield
Heights
When I arrived at the summer house, I noticed that some of
the glass in the windows was broken. I pulled the door open slowly in case it
squealed, but all was silent as I fumbled my way inside and pulled the door to.
Pointing my torch downwards, I risked a quick look at the inside, it was as in
as bad condition as the outside and even with the missing glass in the windows
the place stank. Someone must have tipped over a can of turpentine at some time
and its odour hung about the atmosphere.
I decided on a spot to begin my surveillance. It was just
below one of the unbroken windows and kept me out of most of the draughts. I
could see the big house and the turning area before the front doors. I laid my
binoculars on the floor and after I decided that I was set, screwed the top of
my flask off and poured myself a cup of hot coffee.
The night wore on and as the time passed midnight and I had detected no movement or lights
in the big house, I decided to do a little investigating. As I furtively left
the summer house a fox barked in the distance and I could hear the wind
soughing in the trees. I crept over a very well kept lawn and approached the
house. Checking around the perimeter it wasn’t long till I discovered an open
window and carefully I raised it and climbed inside.
The room I had entered was a library and three of the walls
had fitted bookshelves displaying expensive, leather bound spines inscribed
with gold lettering. The smell in the room was of opulence and expense, with a
lingering odour of cigar smoke.
Trying the door of the library, I found it too was well
oiled and opened silently. I found myself in a passage which I followed to
where it entered a large reception area. A tall suit of armour stood against
one wall and several shields and crossed swords covered another. The floor was
chequered black and white tiles and I felt that I was crossing a gigantic chess
board as I made my way deeper into the house, ever conscious of the route out,
in case of emergency.
Reaching a large panelled door, I put my ear up to it and
listened. I had just assured myself that the room was empty, when someone inside
coughed. I stepped back into the shadows and crouched down behind a large sofa
just as the door opened and two men emerged.
“It really is too much,” said one of the men, a tall man
wearing evening dress. He sported a moustache and small beard.
“Why is that Lacey?” asked the other man, who was smaller
and clean shaven.
“Damn it Wilson !
You know why!” the one called Lacey said angrily.
“I only know that you have got the carnelian back with the
minimum of fuss.”
“Oh yes and what about the causalities? Mysterious deaths
attract the Press, you know that!”
“When is the next meeting?” Wilson asked, trying to change the subject.
“Tomorrow night, but I wish we could postpone. Too much has
gone on.”
“They won’t allow it. You know that, Wilson .”
“Yes, I know, but we will have to keep the carnelian safe.
Imagine a common thief having had his grubby claws on it?”
“Yes, and he will be paid for that as the man who tried to
handle its sale was.”
I crouched down as low as I could. They were talking about
the robbery and its aftermath, I thought. But what is this meeting they are
alluding to and what is the carnelian?
The two men went off down a passageway and soon their
footsteps became faint and then ceased. I crept out and made my way back the
route that I had come into the house. I raised the previously open window and
slid out into the night, remembering to leave it partially open, as I had found
it.
I must have fallen asleep as soon as I got back to the
summer house and my covert activities in the house brought the dreams and they
in turn turned into something nasty.
I found myself surveying a Vietcong stronghold which, in my
dream, we had discovered in the jungle. We were preparing to attack when a
heavy machine gun opened up and several of my comrades were mown down. I dived
for cover and raising my machine gun sprayed the area before me. Suddenly
something like a black cape rose up and swamped us all. I was suffocating and
tried to draw breath, but the material got into my lungs and blocked them. I
was dying and in desperation I cried out and jumped up… smacking my head
against the summer house roof. I staggered a bit and then remembering why I was
there, dropped down again into a crouch.
I looked over at the house but all was still quiet. My noisy
emergence from the nightmare seemed to have gone unnoticed.
As I settled down again I thought again about the dream. I
had been involved in several sorties into the jungle when I was in the Army,
but nothing as terrifying as what I had dreamt of. There had been sheer terror
at the prospect of an ambush by the Cong, but being a trained soldier allowed
you to bridle the feeling and live with it.
I hadn’t had nightmares like that for many years. My nights
after demob had been punctuated by them, but gradually I sweated out all the
memories…until tonight
Why had they returned, I asked myself? Had my subconscious
picked up something in that house that I hadn’t been aware of?
The following day I hid out and watched the house through my
binoculars, but once again nothing moved and as I waited I ate some of my
provisions and drank a bottle of water.
As the afternoon wore on I noticed a little more activity.
Several cars arrived and people got out and went into the house. As the evening
wore on lights began to appear in some of the windows.
By the time it reached seven
o’clock the front of the house had about fourteen limousines parked
in front of it. Tonight was definitely the night and I realised that a lot of
my questions might be answered. The secret was not to get caught for I realised
that any mistake made would be terminal.
The roaring noise of an arriving helicopter woke me from my
little nap that I had decided to take before sallying forth. It landed on the
lawn and two dark figures emerged and were greeted by two men who had come out
of the house. The helicopter promptly left and disappeared over the tree line.
The four men then entered the house and the heavy front door was closed.
I made ready, taking my torch and knife with me. I slunk out
of the summer house and approached the house by way of the shadows cast by the
tall trees that bordered the garden. I returned to where I had gained entry the
previous day, but found the window closed and secured. Cursing the vigilant
servant who had discovered the open window and had closed it, I realised that I
would have to find some other way in.
After several circuits of the building, I had just about
given up finding anywhere I could gain entrance, when a door suddenly swung
open and a man emerged and lit up a cigarette. He took out his mobile and after
dialling a number began a conversation with whom it sounded like was his wife.
He explained that he would be late home and for her not to wait up for him.
I slipped around the back of him and entered the house. It
was the kitchen area and it was a hive of activity with men in chef’s clothes
running around putting on pots and pans full of food. I had a few bad moments
when I was almost caught, but luckily there was always a nook or a cranny that
I could hide in as I made my way through the house. Soon I was back at the door
into the reception hall that I had visited the day before. I furtively opened it
and checked beyond. There were a few people standing around talking. They all
wore dark suits and were in groups of two or more.
All at once the sound of a gong being struck sounded through
the hall and everyone began to move through an open door at the far end. I
could see that the room that they entered was quite large, there seemed to be a
large number of people inside and they all seemed to be men.
The door to the meeting room had been swung shut after the
last member entered and I was then able to cross the reception hall and hide
behind a large cupboard allowing me to listen to what was going on inside the
room.
“Good evening gentlemen!” roared a giant of a man dressed in
a grey suit and wearing a flamboyant red cape round his shoulders. “Settle down
please!”
There was a general murmuring then it all went silent.
“We are having this meeting tonight to inform you of the
successful recovery of the carnelian. The thief who stole it has been dealt
with and two of his colleagues,” said the caped man.
“But Damien, you should not have used the carnelian for so
petty a reason,” a voice spoke out. “One of us could have dispatched the perps.”
“But, William,” replied Damien, theatrically flicking his
cape. “We must know the power of the stone, if we are to use it for our main
purpose.”
“But, you know that we were trying not to bring anything to
the attention of the authorities before the event,” wailed William.
“Enough!” shouted Damien. “It is done and now let us forget
about it.”
Outside the room, I could only guess what the ‘event’ was. I
felt that it would not be anything good. These men were a group of criminals
and I felt sure that they intended harm to someone.
Suddenly I was conscious of becoming warm and upon turning
round I checked about me. Behind, there was a little table upon which sat a
large vase with flowers in it.
Just to the left of the table I could see the air was behaving
as if heat was rising through it. As I watched a small flame appeared and then
became a single pillar of fire which began to advance on me. As I watched I
realised that this was the ‘watchdog’ of the house that had been watching me
the previous night. It now had me in its sights and was going to attempt to
kill me.
Quick as a flash I swung my arm and knocked over the vase.
It tilted and the water inside cascaded into the pillar of flame extinguishing
it. The crash of the vase hitting the floor rang through the hall and as I
raced away I heard the meeting hall door being thrown open and then someone
shouted. “You, stop!”
I ran down the passages that I had crept up last night
hoping upon hope that I could open the window that I had gained entrance to
previously. But as I ran into the room which had had the unlocked window, I was
dismayed to see that it was not only closed but had been locked shut. Turning
about I looked around frantically for somewhere to hide, but something hit my
head and I dropped into the dark of unconsciousness.
When I came to I was sitting in a chair in a small ante
room. Four men stood looking down at me. They all looked very muscular and had
scarred faces. I assumed that they were bodyguards. I tentatively moved and one
of the men moved towards me. “Just sit still,” he growled. “Someone wants to
speak to you.”
The door opened and the man in the grey suit and red cape
entered. I felt a laugh rising in my throat, but decided to quash it. No, this
wasn’t Superman, it was someone who could do me harm.
“Who are you?” asked the man. “Why are you in this house?”
I decided to stay quiet, but one of the muscular apes
whacked me on the head and grunted. “Speak, when Mr Damien addresses you!”
I muttered something about being lost and having wandered
into the house by accident. This was greeted with derision by the thugs, but Mr
Damien just stood and glared down at me.
“I want you to take him out and get rid of him. Understand?”
he said quietly to one of the bodyguards. He then turned and went back out of
the room.
I was hauled out of the seat and frogmarched through the
reception area by two of the guards. As we passed by the place where I had had
the encounter with the flame, I noticed that the broken vase and flowers had
been cleaned up.
We went out of the front door and began walking across the
lawn. As we approached the trees one of the goons pulled out a pistol from his
pocket. “There’s no need for that,” I said. “Just take me to the gate and let
me go.”
This made the two men laugh. “Yeah, that’s going to happen!”
one of them chortled.
I let myself be pushed into a little clearing where it
looked like there had been some excavating being done.
“Handy hole that,” said the man with the pistol.
“Just get on with it!” said the other one.
I fell to the ground and began to plead loudly. “Don’t kill
me! Please, don’t kill me. I beg you!”
“Get up you worm!” said the gunman. “Take it like a man!”
I rose unsteadily to my feet and said, “you take it…!” and
threw a handful of dirt into his face, blinding him. Instantly I drove my fist
into the other mans stomach and he dropped to ground winded. Spinning around I
kicked the blinded man in the side of the head and he too collapsed to the
ground dropping his gun.
I grabbed the gun from the ground where it had fallen and
covered the two prostrate men. “I think I need some answers gentlemen,” I said
waving the gun. “Who are these people in the house and who is the joker in the
cape?”
Neither of the men spoke and I cocked the trigger on the
gun. “I’m going to count to three then I’ll put a bullet into one of your
legs!”
“Ok, mister. You’re a dead man anyway. They are called the
Censorious. The leader is Damien Garwy. They plot and carry out attacks against
the government. Their intention is to bring the government down, to allow them
to take over,” the man who had had the pistol said.
“So why haven’t I heard of them?” I asked.
“Because, when they attack they do it secretly and then it
appears like a natural disaster,” grunted the other man.
“And how do they get the power for all these attacks/” I was
interested, but the only way to get information was to play dumb. I was good at
that.
“Have you ever heard of a carnelian?”
“A carnelian? What’s that?” I had heard the name mentioned
when I had gained entrance into the house the first time.
“It’s a stone…” began the pistol man, when the other man
interrupted.
“We shouldn’t be speaking about it. The boss wouldn’t like
us to. So shut up Lou!”
All at once Lou exploded into a burst of flame and died
screaming. The other man got to his feet and began to run. He only got about
ten feet away when he too burst into flames and collapsed burning to the
ground. I looked about me for any clue of why the conflagration had occurred,
but nothing was visible.
“I think you know too much my friend,” came a mellifluous
voice, seemingly from the empty air.
And as I watched the air began to shimmer and my friend with
the red cape materialised. “As I said, you know too much. Why are you here
snooping on us?” he laughed.
“I am a private investigator and I am investigating the
death of a Mr David Andrew.” I said as convincingly as I could.
“Well I think that you and I should have a little talk,”
said Damien Garwy. He pointed towards the house. “And I think that you should
relinquish yourself of the gun,” he added dryly.
I raised the pistol and pointed it at him. “I don’t think so
Mr Garwy.” Instantly the gun began to heat up and suddenly I had to drop it.
The weapon was glowing cherry red with heat.
Back inside the house once again in the ante room, but this
time securely tied.
Several of the members of the group were gathered round me looking
at me as if I was an animal or something dangerous.
“Why didn’t you just deal with him like your talkative
bodyguards?” asked one man who was very fat and had about ten chins.
“Because Nigel,” said Garwy. “I want to know if he has left
any information back where he came from, that is liable to be embarrassing to
us.”
“If it was me I would beat it out of him!” snarled Nigel
rather bravely until I attempted to lunge at him, sending him jumping back in
fear.
“That will come, I promise you,” said Damien to his quaking
colleague.
I was left alone and the door to the ante room was closed.
Soon I heard doors banging and car engines starting up outside the house. The meeting
had finished and the members of the Censorious, what a pretentious name I
thought, were leaving.
Then after all the noise and movement, the house became
settled back to its silence.
I wondered how long I had before the interrogation began. I
knew that ultimately they would kill me and probably bury my body somewhere in
the grounds.
Just then the door to the room was opened furtively and
someone entered. I tried to turn my head, but I was tied up too tightly. Then
someone began to cut my bonds as a voice whispered in my ear. “I have to get
you out of here,” said a female voice. “They intend to kill you.”
A young dark haired woman stood before me as I pulled the
bits of rope from my wrists. “Who are you?” I asked.
“My name is Veronica Gale and I am here working undercover.
We had received a report of this group and I was asked to collect intel on
them,” she said quietly.
“So, is it true that they are trying to bring down the
government?” I asked.
“Yes, I am afraid it is and if we don’t stop them, they will
be successful.”
“Does this have anything to do with the carnelian, which
everyone seems to be talking about?”
“The carnelian is the source of the Censorius’ power,”
Veronica said sadly.
“What is it?”
“It is a relic from about a thousand years ago,” Veronica
said. “An archaeologist found it while he was digging in a temple in Iraq . You have
read about people and towns being destroyed by fire in ancient times?”
“I thought it was just a myth?”
“No, this is the real McCoy and unfortunately the lunatic fringe
has control of it.”
“You mean the Censorius?”
“Yes, I mean the
Censorius,” said Veronica. “Maybe you should tell me what your interest in them
is about.”
I quickly explained that I was Jack Harrington, a private
investigator who had become involved when my friend had died. The death, I
explained, had been due to fire and that I was sure that the Censorius had been
to blame. I added that Dave Andrew had been given something by a burglar who
had stolen items from Chesterfield
Heights
Veronica nodded her head. “Yes, it was the carnelian that
did the damage to your friend. Now I think you need to see it for yourself.”
“But, what about Damien Garwy? Is he not still in the
house?” I asked unsure of how safe I actually was.
I have been an undercover agent operating as one of his
servants. I can assure you that Mr Garwy is safely tucked up in bed dreaming
dreams of anarchy and terror.” Veronica said with a snort of derision. “I took
him up a nightcap just before I came to free you.”
I asked Veronica about the column of fire that I had managed
to escape from earlier in the evening. She sighed and lowered her eyes to the
floor. “That is the different facets of the carnelian. It can kill like the way
it disposed of the two toughs that were sent to get rid of you or it can
manifest itself as a pillar of pure flame. It acts as a kind of guardian of the
house in that guise.”
I looked down at the innocuous red coloured blob of stone.
It lay on a bed of velvet cloth and to me, having seen its power, it resembled
a sleeping dragon.
“Nothing to look at is it?” asked Veronica. “But it is so
dangerous.”
“Well, well, look who has been released?” said someone
behind us. “I really think you have outstayed your welcome my friend” said
Damien Garwy as he entered the room with two more bodyguards who were holding
guns. “And you too Miss Gale. I always thought that you were far too intelligent
for a simple servant.”
Once again I was secured to a chair alongside Veronica who
was also tied up. Damien Garwys was mincing around in his red cape.
“Ah dear,” he said theatrically, holding his hand to his
forehead. “I think Chesterfield Heights
“What do you mean?” asked Veronica, eager to keep the man
talking. “Surely no one knows that this is the headquarters of the great and
glorious Censorius?”
“Ah, Miss Gale, you mock my organisation and me, hissed
Damien. “I am sure you know what power we have in our hands and we intend to
use it tonight. Firstly to destroy this house…and you two and then to go on to London to destroy the
Government. We have people sympathetic to our cause just waiting for the sign
to begin the takeover. And that sign that will be fire!” He turned with a swirl
of his cape and left the room.
“What do we do now?” I asked. I was sure now that we were to
die, but hoped something would show up in the eleventh hour.
Veronica was reaching as far down the back of her leg as her
bonds would allow her.
As I watched she touched a small, what appeared to be an
embellishment on the heel of her shoe. Something sprang out and Veronica
immediately began rubbing the ropes round her wrists on it. All at once her
hands were free. She untied her ankles then came over to me and began loosing
my bonds.
Suddenly we heard a mechanical roar outside the building and
leaving me to complete untying my ropes, Veronica went over to the window.
“They’ve got the helicopter back. I imagine they will
release the power of the carnelian upon the house from the \air. It is almost
Biblical is it not? Thunderbolts, from the clouds.” Veronica said with a laugh.
I joined her at the window and watched as several men, the
bodyguards and Damien climbed on board the helicopter.
“Don’t you think that we should get out of the house if
Damien is going to set it on fire?” I asked wondering why we were dallying when
we should have been escaping.
“When you saw the carnelian, what did it remind you of?”
asked Veronica.
“I suppose it resembled an old seal made of melted wax,” I
answered.
“Exactly and I am sure they have gone for it!”
“Gone for what?”
“I made a copy of the carnelian using red sealing wax. I
pushed the stone onto the melted wax to give an impression of its surface.”
You mean…” I began to say.
“Yes, they have the copy and I have the real one!” she said
triumphantly, pulling the stone from her pocket and showing me. “Quick, lets go
out and see the denouement of this little fiasco.”
When we emerged from the house the helicopter was rising up
into the sky. I could see Damien sitting in the front. When he saw us, his face
screwed up in hate and I could see him pull something from his pocket. The
helicopter swooped down at us and Damien held something pointed at us. It was
the carnelian or what he thought was the carnelian. When nothing happened and
Veronica raised the real stone to show him he looked furious…and scared! The
helicopter rose and I imagined Damien ordering the pilot to ‘get the hell out
of Dodge’…quickly!
The stream of fire that issued from the carnelian in
Veronica’s hand struck the helicopter mid ships and bathed the body with flame.
It seemed as if nothing was going to happen, when an almighty explosion rocked
the night and Veronica and I were thrown to the ground. When we had picked
ourselves up off the ground, all that was left of the chopper was a pile of
smoldering metal. Of the men nothing remained.
Later, I watched as Veronica drove off into the night. She
had the carnelian safely contained in a steel box and a list of all the
‘members’ of the Censorius. Arrest were about to start happening. She assured
me that the stone would be safely stored away in the Government’s Black Museum
I went home and tried to get my life back to normal. I got a
few clients that required unfaithful spouses followed and photographed for
future divorce proceedings. Ok, it is tawdry, but at least it is relatively
safe…unless the errant spouse is male and built like a brick wall!
I often wonder about Veronica Gale, where she is and what
she is doing, but then I remember the time we spent at Chesterfield Heights
