10pm Monday
John Kane slid a single phone card from the small pack he carried with him at all times. He reckoned with a cursory glance he still had about six hundred dollars’ worth of credit.
As he stood by his choice of public pay phones, he dragged his fingers across the end of the pack. Listening to a memory, as the sound reminded him of his childhood, when the small piece of cardboard clipped to the frame of his push bike brushed his bicycles spokes as he rode along. His thoughts were interrupted by a group of young people who were walking down the street towards him. He saw they shared a bottle of alcohol and two of them carried a coke bottle each. He hoped they weren’t looking for trouble.
Kane had been missing his martial arts training due to his current work program. He might be a little rusty, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone and after all there were only five of them. As it was, their talk and friendly banter went silent as they approached and they passed in silence. There came a mutter from one of them, and there was laughter at the obvious joke.
More than likely at his expense Kane thought. He watched them go before pulled at his shirt sleeve and checked his watch.
It was time.
He turned into the phone box, and after inserting a card he keyed the number, then waited for some thirty seconds before he said:
“Hello. It’s me. Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Is that you?” Letts replied.
“Yes, it’s me.”
“How’s tricks?” Kane asked.
“All’s well. The blueprints and the evidence will be placed in the workshop at two thirty tomorrow morning my time. The copies of the blueprints and the design documents are ready to go out to the media.”
“Good. Everything’s moving smoothly here. Our excess will be moved tonight and the losses will be reported to the proper authorities at ten o’clock tomorrow morning our time.”
“O.K. I will see to it that the authorities here are notified about the workshop. The documents will be delivered at ten o’clock tomorrow morning our time. I think that will work out alright. It should make Wednesday morning’s newspapers, your time. I will also enlighten our colleagues that zero hour is 10am May seven, Sydney time.”
That was it, the culmination of all their work had finally come about. There seemed to be little else to say and the two men lapsed into silence, each for a moment alone with their thoughts.
They’d both been here before. They’d seen war and they understood perfectly the darkness before the dawn and the quiet before the storm.
“Feels like up country work, doesn’t it?” Letts broke the silence.
“Yeah mate. I’ll see you on the other side.” Kane answered.
“Will do.” Letts agreed.
Kane put his hand piece down and stepped out of the phone box. Barney waited in the driver’ seat of the car and Kane brought him up to date as he slid into its passenger seat.
“Well it’s go time Barney. We report our loss to the police at ten o’clock tomorrow morning,” he said as he buckled his seatbelt. “Get in touch with Jerrod will you? Tell him we’ll need the little van on site at 0300. Remind him that the security man does his last round between three and three thirty, and that he should wait out of sight until he sees him leave. You might suggest to him it would be a good idea to put the winch battery on the battery charger until he’s ready to leave, just in case.”
Barney started the car and pulled it into gear.
“What do you want to do now, boss?” He asked.
“I think we might pull into the Chinese restaurant near our digs and have a feed eh? There’s a phone there and you can contact Jerrod. While we’re there we’ll get something to take away. We might find ourselves a little peckish by three o’clock. After that we should get some shut eye. We’ve a long night ahead of us, and we need to be in good shape when we turn up at the workshop at nine o’clock in the morning.”
*****
Letts stayed with the telephone and made calls to each of the operational team leaders in Washington, Manila and Toronto. His last call was to a local London number.
Quietly and directly, he informed each of those who answered the phone that ‘zero hour is ten hundred hours May seven, Sydney time.’
After listening for the time and date to be repeated back to him, he terminated each call without any more conversation, other than a brief good luck. He then delved his hand into the carry all bag which sat on the floor beside him and withdrew from it a satellite phone. While he allowed it to rest in his lap he lifted the carry all itself and turned it inside out.
His fingers slid easily under the stiff loose flap which gave the bottom of the bag its packing base. With lifted flap he could see with the aid of a small torch a list of numbers written on the flaps underside. Beside each of the numbers were code words which should correspond with those given by the sales rep who answered his call.
The first number was to the sales rep in the Ukraine, the second was answered by an accented man in Saudi Arabia, the third Syria, the fourth in the Philippines, the fifth in the U.S., the sixth in Canada, the seventh in Egypt, the eighth in Pakistan, the ninth in Lebanon and a tenth to the sales team leader in the U.K.
To each of these sales team leaders he gave the time and date of zero hour. After hearing them repeated back to him he terminated the call without further conversation.
Letts had no idea who the people were he’d spoken to. His knowledge that Athol had chosen each of the sales teams personally for these in country tasks was all he needed to know.
He was content with that.
*****
The sales team leader in Syria had been, like most of his colleagues, in country for ten days and he’d been successful in his advertising campaign. A success partly due to the fact that he, like most of his colleagues had lived and worked in, or in some cases had been natives of the countries they were now working.
He’d emigrated from Syria to the U.K eight years earlier, had completed a University degree and experienced the Western lifestyle.
Now he was back in his native country. In a city he knew well and using a language which flowed easily from his lips.
His present occupation was not one he could possibly have envisaged as the young Syrian. He’d fled to the West and a better life all those years before, and had learnt the meaning of freedom of choice.
That freedom of choice had, in a roundabout way, brought him home again. Not as a holiday maker, or even as a prodigal son, but as a salesman for a weapon of mass destruction.
He’d hit the ground running on his return and it had not taken long to look up contacts from the old days, where some of whom offered contacts of their own.
It took little persuading to draw in those with extreme views, even less when they understood their chance to gain a weapon of mass destruction. Particularly one which would be ready to fire off at their will once they had paid the auction price, and to date he’d snared three interested parties. Each had demanded proof of the existence of such a weapon, and he had been expert in his gentle persuasion. Allowing each of the parties to understand he would soon bring them proof. Inform their servants, his contacts, and they would bring to their masters the news that enlightenment was close at hand. He had wondered at the limit of their patience. Not as yet to the point of worry, but now as the call had come from Letts, he felt a sense of relief, and security in the knowledge that the hardest part was over.
Under normal circumstances the hardest part would be to relieve them of the weight of their purses, but he knew that on this occasion he had something their passion demanded. A light smile played about his lips as he made the first of three calls, and it lingered briefly until he got down to business.
“Yes, my friend, it is me,” he spoke quietly, “It is time to take news to your master. Tell him he should watch the B.B.C news tomorrow morning. He will have the proof he seeks.”
*****
Tom Lee was in a restless sleep at th
ree thirty on Tuesday morning. Thoughts of the man Kane had clouded his usually clear mind, and had overcome his quiet jubilation at the prospect of access to Sudovich’s lost fortune. Lee, like most humans when they worried about an issue, envisaged a worst case scenario. The worst case scenario for him at this time was the downfall of his empire, or imprisonment.
Or both, he thought wearily as he pulled the palm of his hand across his furrowed forehead. This worry regarding Kane was not the whole reason for his restlessness though.
If it had been he would have used his discipline and simply put it out of his mind. Like any other problem that might arise during the normal course of his working week. The main reason was the crate, or rather, what had been in the crate.
His frustration at not knowing the contents of the crate, and his inability to scratch its itch of curiosity pulled at him. His feelings of helplessness seemed to forge together against him. Until his mental fabric was torn to shreds and his incomplete thoughts churned into chaotic confusion. He got out of his bed and walked to the kitchen in search of something to drink. As he opened the door of the refrigerator, his eyes came into contact with one of the advertising pamphlets which hung behind magnets on the outside of the door.
As the door swung out and past his face he registered the words TAKEAWAY & DELIVERY.
Lee closed the door and looked at the pamphlet and spoke to himself as he stared at the words.
“Takeaway and delivery, takeaway and delivery.” He thought a moment before saying the words again, this time swapping them around, “Delivery and takeaway.” Of course, he thought. That’s the answer, and to hell with Kane. “The crate was imported by Sudovich Holdings and I am Sudovich Holdings. Which means that the box belongs to me and what belongs to me I can take away. So tomorrow I’ll drive into my yard at Grey Street, pick up my box and take it away. If nothing else happens, I should at least get a reaction from Kane and force the issue. He won’t be in a position to go crook about it. He can’t call the police because he’s up to his neck in something and he won’t want to draw attention to himself. All he will be able to do is negotiate and we’ll negotiate on my terms. It’s brilliant.”
Lee was suddenly happy with the relief he felt. Once again he was in control and he danced across the kitchen as he laughed out loud.
“It’s my box John Kane, so stick that up your big nose.”
His frivolity had woken his young wife from a private dream. Lingering images left her body warm within and she felt an urge to fan the flame.
Lee entered the bedroom and she sat up in bed and watched him. He stepped a dance step across the bedroom’s carpeted floor, singing as he went:
“It’s my box, cha cha. It’s my box, cha cha.” As he came to the edge of their bed she moved over to his side and met him.
She’d learnt through her experience with him, that when he was in this mood, it was the best time for her to put forward a physical proposal. This was the man she’d married for her convenience, and as he smiled at her she felt the warmth become more heated deep down in her belly. She reached out her hand to where he stood beside their bed, and cupped him through the loose soft cloth pajamas. As she did, she felt the weight in the sack begin to rise as its excess skin was drawn up to accommodate the expansion of a slowly heating erection.
As it did, it escaped the pajamas open front. She watched, fascinated as it pulsated and grew not six inches before her wide open eyes. She didn’t have to touch it, not yet. She leaned forward until it was near the tip of her nose and she could see clearly, the taut, stretched rose-red skin.
Finally, when it seemed that it was fully erect, she gave its head a quick flick with the tip of her tongue and it gave one more spasm like jump. She knew then it was as pumped as it was going to get. Until it gets into some place a little warmer, she thought.
She gave it another quick light flick for good measure, and as she rose up on her knees she allowed one of her breasts to brush its blood engorged end and it gave another spasm. Slipping down her panties, she lay back on her bended knees. They parted and she became even more excited when she realized how wet she was. She was hungry for the pleasure shaft which stood erect before her. The heated, hard stem her pussy was begging her to take, to envelope and drain its loving spoonful. She slid a finger between her open and ready vulva. Touching gently her blood engorged clitoris. Just once, before she had to make herself stop. Too much would surely take her over her orgasmic edge. Instead she ran her fingers through her matted growth of pubic hair and looked up at Lee with slitted glowing eyes as she purred to him:
“This is your box Tom, my man. Come to me.”
Tom Lee was ready to oblige and he reached down to his bedside table to unload the glass of water. As his hand left the glass his mobile phone suddenly rang out.
A split second after the phones first bleating sound she whispered with a pleading tone.
“Don’t answer it Tom, I need you now. Please.
Lee had automatically picked up the phone by the time it had made its third sound.
“Shane. What’s happening?”
Shane spoke to him with a voice coarse with the sound of exaggerated whisper:
“Boss, it’s the big box. Someone’s stealing it.”
Lee’s voice sounded loud as he demanded.
“What?”
Sally watched as the colour of the hardness slowly faded and the shine of the stretched skin began to disappear. She moved toward it and took it into her hand, trying to massage it back to life, but she felt disappointment spread to her belly when it began to soften.
“No, no, no,” she cried quietly to herself.
“Boss, a small van pulled up outside the gate a few minutes ago. A bloke got out of it and used bolt cutters on the lock. Then they drove in and reversed up to the big box. They’re winching it into the van now.”
Lee couldn’t believe what he was hearing. No words came from his lips which moved until he clutched at the only straw available.
“Follow it.”
“But boss, we’re locked in and our car is a street away. By the time…”
Lee interrupted him.
“Well, follow it on foot then, at least to the highway. See whether it heads out of town or back into town. Do bloody something.” Shane broke the connection and for a moment Lee stood staring at the far wall with his dick hanging out. Slowly his face screwed up in fury. He cursed loudly until he turned and punched the wall at the head end of the bed.
He looked around for some clothes and quickly pulled them on, even though he had no idea what it was he could do. As he left the room he called to Sally:
“I’ve got to go.”
Sally didn’t look at him. She opened the drawer by her side of the bed and withdrew from it her vibrator as she called after him with a snarl.
“Piss off.”
Lee heard her and through his confusion he whispered, “Women.”
Sally lay back in her bed and inserted the thick end of the vibrator. Her own wetness allowed a smooth entry and she welcomed its presence. She found the power switch and suddenly felt a muscle-tensing urge to scream when the machine whimpered as it dragged the last of the energy from its batteries.
The moment had passed. There would be no satisfaction this night and she withdrew the plastic utensil. It held her gaze for a short moment before she told it scornfully.
“Fuck you too!”
She threw it onto the carpeted floor where it bounced once before ending its travel against the painted skirting board. A final glance at it gave her at least a small sense of gladness in that it didn’t break. Her fingers curled into small fists as she buried her head into her pillow and tried to cry. Hoping that that emotion might at least, lessen her heated frustration. Thoughts that came to her from nowhere spun uncontrollably through her head, and for what seemed to be a long time she was wide awake and aware. Suddenly a picture formed in her mind and she mentally relived moments of only some days past tha
t were still warm within her memory.
An X rated memory, she thought. Visions of a big man with a big heart and a big manhood became the focus of her mind’s eye. She visualized the memory she had of his extended organ. Remembering clearly the moment when she had looked down between their two bodies. Seeing what was about to invade her, and watching its glistening head disappear. The shaft growing gradually shorter as it slid up and into her.
The thought of it hastened her hand, as it automatically and seemingly with a mind of its own moved down and across her belly. She felt a tingling sensation which announced the contact of her fingers with her downy pubic nest. She knew then, that all was not lost. Soon she would have cause for, and would claim the sleep that was deservedly hers.
Soon after she’d used her fingers to exorcise the demon frustration from her loins she would sleep, and in that sleep she would dream of the big man who’d promised her he’d sever her bond to Lee. Sever the bond to the man who could give to her what she materially wanted, but failed to deliver what she physically needed.
Sally’s idea of the perfect man was one who didn’t belt her around. One who also had enough money to support her in the manner to which she’d grown accustomed. At the same time, he had to be ready to deliver to her physical demands when her need arose.
She didn’t love men; only saw them as a necessary evil. Like an accessory which is designed to make life easier. They were all much the same, with their only difference being their bank account and their performance in bed. She didn’t care much about what they looked like, or their age. Life was short and you grabbed whatever you could get your hands on. As a woman’s body was only supple and firm for so long, one grabbed as quick as one was able.
The big man was a gentleman and he was considerate in her bed. Unfortunately, he lacked somewhat on the financial side, but he had promised her that there was a big plan about to come to fruition, and when it did he would sever her ties with Lee. It was a promise she didn’t cling to. She’d heard every promise known to man and had learnt that promises were just words. Words were worth nothing until with time they became real enough to be seen and touched, and of course spent.
Her father had taught her early in her life that promises were just words. Used by some men as a weird form of self-justification after they had taken what they wanted, and were unable to apologize because an apology was an admission of guilt. So they offered promises instead. As time went by the promises stopped and they were soon replaced by threats. These were better in a way because they were, to her, closer to an apology.
The threats were most certainly admissions of guilt. The fear she’d held at the time because of those threats, at least took away from her the thoughts that she was a guilty party.
Sally had reminded herself many times in her life that she was the innocent victim and that her father was the only guilty party.
Many years after the event he had found her and had sought reconciliation. She had watched his shoulders fall and the wretched look in his eyes as she made a promise to him.
“I will promise you one thing. When you die I will come to your funeral and piss on your grave.” Sally still found it amusing when she remembered that particular funeral. She’d used a syringe to transfer her urine from to an empty perfume bottle. It carried easily in her hand bag to the cemetery, and while she waited until the service was almost over, until the time when the odd few members of the family threw small handfuls of dirt into the gaping hole in the ground. Then she’d walked to the edge of the grave and held up the small bottle up for all of them to see, before she unscrewed its lid and began to sprinkle its contents onto the satiny lid of the timber coffin.
It had seemed to her at the time that an age passed while the yellow liquid dribbled and spat from the small orifice in the bottle.
When no more liquid would come, she held the bottle up again, and looked into the faces of those who stood near to the grave. Some had smiles of appreciation for the way Sally was showing respect for her father by sprinkling what appeared to be expensive perfume onto the grave.
The small bottle had held their attention for a long moment before she’d spoken out in a clear voice:
“This morning I filled this little bottle with my own urine, because the last time I saw my father I told him I would do for him the same as I would do for any low life paedophile, and piss on his grave.” Funerals are usually quiet events, and this one was too until this point in time. In just a short moment, Sally had proved that even quietness can be hushed.
For a short period of time she’d looked into faces which reflected physically the inner feeling of anguish, anger and shock. The silence was finally broken by a sound which brought an expression of surprise to Sally’s face. She’d looked aside to see that it was her cousin Jenny who was clapping her hands together. It was followed shortly after by cousin Ruby who clapped harder and faster, as if the act might encourage the demons to leave her with haste. Crest fallen looks appeared on both of her cousin’s parent’s faces, as the realization hit them of what had gone on before them unnoticed.
Sally had looked down into the hole in the ground before she’d let the small bottle fall from her fingers. It bounced off the lid of the coffin, until it, and its hollow sound disappeared into the darkness between the coffin and the dark earth.
Turning from her father’s grave, she had only walked a short way to her car when she had been overtaken by her cousin Jenny. Who with tear laden eyes had thanked her for letting the truth be known. It was at that time, while the two women spoke, that poor Aunt May’s knees buckled under her as she fainted and had to be helped back to her car.
Sally’s only regret for the day was poor Aunt May. She’d called her by phone after the funeral, and was told by her Uncle Joe who answered the telephone.
“She’ll be alright Sally; she’s a tough, old bird. Just a bit much for her in one day, I think.”
Sally had been unsure as to whether there had been a touch of humour in her Uncle Joe’s voice. She had no way of finding out before the phone had been handed to poor Aunt May, who confirmed Uncle Joe’s report. She’d not been in search of sympathy from poor Aunt May. Nor did she receive any. She’d come away from the conversation with the feeling that poor Aunt May’s lack of understanding, would cause her to push the events of the day deep into the closet. Maybe causing crowd conditions for any other skeletons who might reside there.
Promises were lies, and lies tore at the protective coating of trust.
When the protective coating was tattered, then its inner core became tarnished and lost its lustre. For those whose trust in others had lost its lustre, they became emotionally alone in an effort to find protection against further betrayal.
Alone against the world is how Sally saw herself. She had learnt from experience that anyone who was alone against the world was in need of tools with which to sculpture that cold, hard reality. Sally’s most effective tool was her body. A second and almost important tool was the man who wanted her body. Once he was under her spell, he acted as her apprentice, and carved her sculpture for her.
If the big man’s plan was successful, then she would hear his bid. After all, his promise to her was only an announcement that he considered himself to be in the running. If his bid was high enough, then she would consider the best way to tackle her only option. Divorce Lee, and take him for what was legally hers.
Thank God for matrimony she thought, surely the surest fire, tax-free investment.
There was one thing that deserved serious consideration. That was the fact she would need protection during the period leading up to the conclusion of that divorce.
Sally felt confident the big man could offer her that. It was a factor in his favour, and it would support him in his bid.
She didn’t know the big man’s plan, but she knew that even if it didn’t come to fruition, then there were other men out there who would be prepared to take his place. It would only be a matter of time before
one came forward to offer promise.
Sally reached her peak and came in her hand. The sensation engulfed her, highlighted her body to a state that overwhelmed her mind. To the extent she ceased to exist for some moments. Shortly thereafter she opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. Due to its colour in the low light it seemed to be far away, and she made a decision.
Tomorrow she would take Lee’s credit card and satisfy her need for revenge by going shopping. It was most certainly her most satisfying form of revenge. A form of revenge she still found profoundly amusing. It proved to her again and again, that no sex cost Lee much more than many men paid to have sex. Sally felt a little thrill. She decided that not only would she go shopping, but she’d also stash a little of Lee’s cash into her rainy day account.
Tomorrow she would also make contact with the big man and coyly remind him that promises were made to be kept.
She understood men enough to know that a woman only had to pretend to listen, and a man would talk himself into a corner without any coaxing at all, particularly if he was driven by desire.
“Men!” She said out loud to the ceiling, “Their stupidity is the only thing I can count on.” She nestled into her pillow and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 11