iCommand (Hagar Trilogy Book 3), page 13
'OK, OK, blondie. You be careful. Now go quietly and in peace now.'
Judith turned and walked down the stairs and out onto the street looking like any other Cardiff student. The difference was that their rucksacks would probably just contain books, a Velcro wallet, an iPad and a mobile.
She walked down St Marys Street until she found a Spar. She popped in and headed to the alcohol section. After a quick purchase she crossed the road and went back towards the bus station where she flagged a taxi down.
'Riverside, please, just past the backpackers.'
The Somali driver took her the long way around and overcharged her but she didn't complain. She just paid and waited for her change like any other student would do.
Haydn Rutherford had been out the night before and drunk a little more than he'd wanted to, especially considering he needed to be sharp if he wanted to catch a dangerous serial killer. He'd had to buy the drinks to persuade a couple of the younger, fitter lads from the office to help him out but although they'd agreed they were just humouring the old git really. As if this washed out hack could have tracked a super-intelligent cyber killer down? They just didn't believe him one bit. And now they were all safely tucked up in duvet-land, sleeping off their hangovers, when actually they should have been heading into the cold city and moving unobtrusively towards the Taff Embankment as they'd rehearsed the night before.
Haydn got a taxi to drop him off on Penarth Road and walked the short distance to the road bridge. He stopped, pausing to take a good look around. It was eerily quiet. As he approached the river he felt nauseous. It was probably the smell that drifted down on the wind from the nearby Brains brewery. He was sweating from the previous night's whisky and failed to notice that there was a distinct lack of alcoholics and drug ravaged down and outs loitering by the benches along the riverbank.
He crossed the main road bridge and slowly headed north along the cycle track. If he'd cast his eyes a good half a mile further up he would have seen the crowd of dirt-brown, tattooed men and women, the usual inhabitants of this rough area of the city, converging around an empty plastic carrier bag that had once held three bottles of cheap supermarket vodka. The arguments had already started, a quick scuffle had broken out and an old scar had been opened up again on one drunk's face. An uneasy peace had returned not long after the pecking order was established and the bottles were still being greedily passed around. It was exactly the distraction required.
Then Haydn saw something. It looked to be a small, slight figure, on the grass verge just below the level of the cycle track and bridge. The woman had long hair tied back in a ponytail, and a backpack on the ground beside her. Haydn thought that maybe she was one of the women who offered a blowjob for a couple of notes in order to fund her drug habit? Or that maybe she was just a school kid mitching off P.E.?
As Haydn got closer he realized she was none of those things. He visibly shivered as Judith slowly turned to face the fat reporter and forced a nervous smile.
‘Come down here, I've got something to show you,' she said, beckoning the Scot down to her level.
Haydn hesitated, realizing he was alone, but he wasn't really that scared. Hagar looked so small and insignificant. Hardly a danger to a big lump of a grown man such as himself.
Maybe it was the alcohol still floating around in his system? Perhaps it was giving him Dutch courage? What could she possibly do to me, he thought. He stepped forward, slowly edged down the grass verge and started to speak.
‘Listen lassie, I just wanna talk to you, get your story right. You know, set the record straight, sort things out…'
Haydn was talking in clichés but Judith wasn't listening. In fact she'd already made a conscious effort not to listen to a word he would say. She didn't need to hear the crap that she was certain would come out of his mouth. The words would be unimportant and would just distract her. All she had to do was watch where his feet went and work out in a millisecond his precise point of balance at any given moment.
‘It's in the bag,' she said.
'What is?' said the Scot as he suddenly felt a primal chill run through his body.
Almost alongside her now, Haydn stopped moving. He wobbled slightly as he adjusted his weight. His shoes slipping slightly on the damp ground. It was the moment Judith had been waiting for. She lunged forward, grabbed the reporter's shirt collar and quickly knocked him to the ground with a lightning fast, sideways kick of her right leg.
Haydn fell to his left, towards the river and saw the water's edge approach. He instinctively reached out and tried to grab a handful of grass, instead he got an old beer can that cut his hand. He turned back to the right and was just in time to see the sole of a trainer speeding towards his face. He tried to move his hands up to protect his face but he was much too slow. The kick connected with his palette and carried on upwards. A searing pain shot through his head as blood began to pour from his broken nose.
He screwed his eyes tight with the pain and was about to cry out when he felt two hands take hold of him around the head. He felt himself lifted slightly and in the briefest of moments he was in the air. A good second later his flabby, unfit body hit rock. The ground was hard and uneven. The fall knocked the breath from him. Then a second later he suddenly felt icy cold. The River Taff was freezing. The shock of the water took his breath away again and he couldn't help taking in a huge mouthful of stinking dirty river.
His arms started to flay about frantically as he felt his head pushed down. Deeper. Deeper down, under the surface. The arms that held him there in a vice-like grip were not letting go. The water burned his eyes, he tried to open them but just got more terrified as he felt his lungs bursting. He knew he must fight to survive. He had to come up for air. His feet clawed at the riverbank and he tried to push his weight upwards but the slimy green vegetation just made him slip further under.
His clothes were soaked and his whole body felt twice the weight it had a minute ago. His hangover had disappeared, adrenaline coursed through his veins but his reflexes were still pedestrian slow in comparison to his foe.
His chest was one great crushing pain as he made one last effort to escape Hagar's clutches. The unfit reporter bucked his body violently and almost broke the surface but the small woman was directly above him and pressing down with all her weight. It was no use. He stayed underwater.
The carbon dioxide building up in his blood was poisoning him. He had to breathe. He had to escape. He tried to grab the hands that held him tight but he was so weakened by his efforts that it made no difference.
Then the automatic reflex took over. Haydn's mouth opened and the river flowed in, filling his mouth, throat and stomach, but worst of all, his lungs, which felt like they were on fire when he tried to cough up the icy liquid that engulfed him.
Sharp stabbing pains penetrated his chest cavity, the blood pressure in his head seemed to be pushing his eyeballs out of their sockets but then suddenly the pain went away as the last of his blood's oxygen left his brain and he quickly went numb. His bladder and bowels opened and the water surrounding him quickly turned brown. Haydn's final thoughts were confusing and disappointing. Suddenly swimming in a warm sea, bobbing with shiny, golden, press award trophies, he felt whisky-flavoured acid being poured through his paper-thin body in a sweet dream that all too quickly faded away as his whole world turned to black.
Judith let go when she knew he'd gone. She quickly retrieved her bag, scrambled back up the banking and brushed herself down. Looking around she saw nobody. Further up the path she could still see the crowd of wine victims fighting over the booze she'd left for them. It was much too cold for the usual Taff Trail cyclists and there were no cameras in view. She figured she was in the clear.
Adjusting the straps on her backpack she calmly walked up to the road and strolled onto the bridge. She jogged across the road and looked south. She leaned over the edge of the railings and stared down into the muddy waters. She could just make out a shape that to a casual passer-by might look like a large log. It was floating slowly out into the middle of the river, moving up and down in the current. She watched for a few moments until the hefty shape finally disappeared under the murky tide as the river continued its steady flow down to the Cardiff Bay waterfront.
Before moving off Judith took her smartphone out of her bag. She plugged her earphones in and scrolled through the iPhone's menu. As she walked back to her parked car in the multi-storey, Mick Jagger was singing about the breath in his lungs feeling clinging and thick… quite appropriate.
It was only a twenty-five minute drive back home but Judith had a few other stops to make first.
Thirty Seven
Robbie wasn't really up for a lunchtime drink but Warlock's text had been quite intriguing. He'd asked Robbie to come alone, said he would text again to say where they should meet, but it would be in Cardiff. The city centre. A posh, foodie pub. And that, if all went well, an old friend would be paying.
Warlock was more than a little bit worried though. He'd carefully set the online trap as planned. He knew the folder had somehow been accessed a few days ago. His logs showed a reference to it. He also knew his reporter friend, Haydn Rutherford, would have most likely met her by now, if she'd turned up at all. And then hopefully he'd managed to talk to her and get his exclusive story. Maybe he'd even arranged to get the pigs to pick her up? The suspense was killing him though.
He'd sent a text to his friend Robbie, as he thought he'd like to be in on it, but he'd left Hal Griffiths out of the loop. The last thing he wanted was the big lad wading in and causing havoc. He hadn't said a word to his girlfriend Kris either. He could always tell her later. In fact he was quite looking forward to casually spilling the beans about his top-secret exploits. He imagined his exciting tale of intrigue, espionage and danger would be the icing on the cake. Women loved a good old James Bond character! They couldn't resist the dangerous men. He figured that if that didn't impress the knickers off her nothing would!
It was well past dinnertime and time to go if he was ever going to meet Robbie and then rendezvous with Haydn to hear his news. But Haydn hadn't rung. In fact, Warlock had heard nothing. He knew he shouldn't really disturb the hack. What if he was still in the middle of an interview? But the temptation was too great. He had to know. He had to find out what was going on and if everything was alright.
He rang Haydn's mobile and waited. He got the unobtainable tone. That was not good. He hit the end call and tried again. The same - nothing. Suddenly a chill spread across Warlock's fatty neck and quickly crept down his sweaty back.
Still at work, Robbie was tapping his desk, impatiently waiting for the nod from his friend. Hungry now, as his normal dinner hour had been and gone a long time ago. In fact his rumbling stomach was starting to hurt, although he wasn't really sure if it was lack of food or lack of a phone call. But he got nothing too. No message, no text. No email. Not a sausage from Warlock. This was worrying.
Finally, his phone beeped. It was the big man, but not the message he'd expected.
'chg pln mte, it’s a no shw, wll cll l8tr'
'Bloody hell,' said Robbie, as he read the textspeak. 'I thought we'd caught her.'
He stood up, shaking with lack of blood sugar or maybe fear, grabbed his jacket and walked to the door. He needed a Greggs big time.
Meanwhile, back in Rhydyfelin, Warlock was in a mess. He was going to splash out on a taxi to get him to the city that much quicker but decided instead to cancel his booking with S and T Cabs, from Cilfynydd. Instead of looking forward to a huge celebratory lunch and a few beers he got scared. Really scared indeed.
He decided he would stay indoors for a bit, that he didn't feel too well. Leaping out of his armchair he ran to the front of the house and locked the door. He put the inadequate chain on the catch, then quickly checked the back door was bolted as well. He did a quick check of the windows, even though he knew it was too cold for either him or Kris to have opened any recently. He gingerly crept upstairs.
A day on the Apple Mac was called for. Perhaps he'd play some computer games. Yeh, shoot some aliens, beat his highest score, talk to some online, geeky friends. Yeh, he'd hide himself away and wait for Haydn's call. The call that he convinced himself would come later. The call that must come. The call that would never come.
He'd wait for Kris to pop round. Yes, he should call her he decided. He needed moral support.
'Oh shit, what's happened?' he said out loud, the sweat accumulating again under his new, Nerdoh shirt and making him feel very uncomfortable.
'I'll have a shower. Get changed. Yeh, make me feel better,' he said to no one in particular and then began to amble to the bathroom.
Thirty Eight
It was about three o'clock when the doorbell rang. Warlock wasn't going to answer it but he was glad he did. It was his girlfriend Kris.
He peered through the small gap in the door frame, the small chain still on the catch.
'Hi Kris, oh thank God it's you, hang on… come in,' said Warlock as he fumbled with his scant security measure.
'Expecting someone else?' asked Kris, smiling softly.
'No, sorry, I was upstairs, didn't know you were coming back today, can't be too careful with the burglars and all,' said Warlock.
'Really?' asked Kris.
'Oh yeh, although we probably get more Jehovah's really,' Warlock tried to joke.
'I'm sure you could fight them off dear,' said Kris as she stepped into the hallway of her boyfriend's old council house.
'Who me? Mmm, well yes I suppose so,' replied Warlock as he shuffled out of the way to allow his girlfriend inside.
The couple sat down on the settee in the living room, Warlock bringing in a nice, hot cup of tea for Kris after she complained she was cold.
'Thank you,' said Kris, as she greedily drank the brew to try to rid herself of the cold in her bones.
They chatted about their days for a while, both of them lying quite well. Then they watched some TV. By six o'clock Warlock was getting hungry and so he ordered a large pizza for them both from the takeaway in Treforest. After the deliveryman had been paid they curled up on the settee together and tucked in.
Finally Warlock started to unwind again. He was watching Kris intently. He liked the way she dipped her fries in the barbeque sauce he'd ordered, then slowly licked her fingers. He was relaxed again, thankful to have the company and relieved that he didn't have to worry too much about whatever Haydn and Hagar had got up to, if anything at all.
He tried to think of logical explanations and assumed Hagar had smelt a rat, failed to show and Haydn was now getting drunker than usual in a city centre watering hole. Yes, that was surely it. Unless of course, she had turned up and things had turned nasty? What if she'd dispatched the reporter? What if she'd asked him about their little plan, the meeting, hidden on his machine? But then he remembered the boys from the office Haydn had said he was taking with him. No, he was sure everything would be fine. Best thing he could do now was lighten up. Enjoy the fact that his woman was here with him and sleep on it.
'I'm very tired,' said Kris, her blonde hair hanging down now as she undid the scrunchies from her bunches.
'Don't want to watch a film then?' asked Warlock.
'No, not really, what's on? I think I should go to bed,' said Kris.
'The fifth Star Wars is on again, well the second one actually, you know what I mean,' said Warlock.
'I think I fancy an early night, big day tomorrow, I think,' said Kris smiling nervously.
'Really? What's happening then?'
Kris shook her head from side to side and pursed her lips tighter.
'Wait and see,' she said, then got up and walked to the bottom of the stairs before turning back to look at Warlock. She smiled and Warlock couldn't help notice a change in her manner.
This was a genuine smile, not the usual, nervous, forced attempt at being civil. Kris had changed.
In the spare bedroom Kris began to undress. She took off her t-shirt, leaving her white sports bra on. Then she sat on the edge of the single mattress and kicked off her trainers. They were a little wet, covered in mud and she thought about cleaning them, but decided she would do it tomorrow.
She quickly slipped out of her leggings and sat on the bed in her underwear. There was a full-length mirror in the room and she felt the impulse to stand up to inspect her body.
First she looked at her legs. Her slim but muscular legs, the bruises nearly healed on her shins but a new one turning black on her right leg.
Then she ran her rough hands over her taut stomach. Her fingers finding the raised skin of her wash-board six pack.
She had two old scars on her left side. She remembered the vicious man who'd given them to her. It was a long time ago. She shut the horrible memory out for a moment, but then smiled as she remembered he was dead now.
She felt her face, as she often did. Her fingers inspecting the tight, yet smooth skin but feeling for the broken bones, now healed, underneath. She ran her hand along her jawbone. It still hurt sometimes, especially in the cold weather. She thought about the man who'd given her this injury. She was supposed to be nice to him. And she had been. So far…
She spun around quickly. A noise at the door. A creak of the hinges. It was Warlock.
Their eyes met and he apologised.
'Sorry, I was just seeing if you were OK,' he said.
'I'm fine thank you,' said Kris, her lithe body facing the big man, her arms down at her sides.
Warlock opened the door fully and slowly walked into the room. Kris backed up against the bed.
'I won't hurt you. I promise,' said Warlock.
'I know.'
'Maybe we could cuddle for a bit?'
'OK,' Kris smiled.
