The guards hesitated, and then a phone rang. After a few short seconds he heard the guard say, “Yes Sir,” and they were let through.
Everything seemed to be going according to plan. Not that he had a plan, yet. “How many guards are there?” Jake asked.
“I have no idea. There could be as many as ten,” the driver said in reply. If there were as many as ten then Jake could quite possibly find himself in trouble. He was aiming for a peaceful rescue, but there was no guarantee of that. He would only have enough bullets if he hit someone with every shot, or if he was lucky with a “through and through” or two. Jake reflected that he was considering how to shoot real human beings, something which he had never considered himself capable of doing. If that happened, he realised that he would be a wanted killer for real. He had to avoid that scenario, if at all possible. As yet, however, there was no sign of anyone else in the grounds.
The car stopped outside the entrance to a large, very grand Georgian mansion. The building was built of red brick with decorative stone surrounds to giant windows and an impressive canopied front entrance. The stonework would have taken weeks or months to produce in the period in which this house was built. This house would have once belonged to a very wealthy man. Despite seeing how the factory office had been furnished, Jake had not expected the crime lord to be operating out of such a lavish location. Inconspicuous was obviously not a word that Ironside was familiar with.
With trades in broad daylight and luxury homes, it was remarkable that the police had failed to stop him thus far. He wondered idly how many other D.I. Arnolds there had been, prepared not only to look the other way but to help Ironside carry out his illegal trade.
Jake lifted his head and looked out of every window of the car. There was still no sign of anyone. He picked himself up and climbed out of one of the back doors of the car. Still there was no one around. It was eerily silent, and Jake didn’t know what to make of it.
They stepped inside the impressive main entrance. Jake peered down corridors to his left, then to his right. Thick carpets covered the floors of the ornate hallways, whose walls were decorated with expensive textured wallpaper and large pieces of gold-framed artwork. Other than the artwork, the corridors were empty, still with no sign of guards.
“There seem to be less people than you thought," Jake said, fully expecting to be confronted by twenty armoured bouncers when he rounded the next corner.
He was relieved to find the next corridor as empty as the last. He could see a large person standing at the end of the long corridor. He suspected that this was his man.
This was the mighty crime lord he had been determined to stop. This was the man who had eluded Law Enforcement for several years. He was probably only five and a half feet tall, but his width was what made him look so large. He had to be close to twenty stones. He was not the largest person Jake had ever seen, but he was far from being the smallest. As Jake approached he could see that Ironside was facing a large picture with his back towards his guests.
“Jake Hingham!” bellowed a voice down the hall, causing Jake to stop dead. “Here to reclaim little miss Arnold, I hear.” Jake opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.
“Somehow you know who I am, and I know who you are as you've been tracking Mr Arnold and his family all day, so there is no need for a formal introduction,” Ironside said in a perfect Queen's English accent. “You have the appearance of an intelligent man, Mr Hingham. Why did you walk straight into my trap?”
Jake did not know how to respond to that, so he simply kept quiet and let Ironside speak.
“I like to have fun with my victims before I make them suffer.” Ironside’s voice was unusual. Everything he said was so eloquent, with a polite and surprisingly quiet tone – even his threats.
“Oh, come on Jake. You must have some questions to ask me. I will not do all the talking.” He turned around to face Jake. Jake felt a shiver run down his spine, and slowly looked over his shoulder to see at least ten armed thugs behind him. Even if he was a crack shot he would not succeed in taking out all of them with his gun. He now had to come to terms with the fact that he was probably not going to get out of there alive.
“I know who you are, Jake. I know what your purpose is in coming here,” Ironside paused, “but I don’t know why you’re doing this. You don’t seem to fit into any of this as far as I can tell. I've been trying to figure out your association in this since your number plate was traced first thing this morning.” Ironside faced Jake. Jake had expected him to be younger than he now appeared. He seemed to be almost pensionable age.
“You wouldn't believe me if I told you how I got involved,” Jake spat out. The words sounded more bitter and rude than he had intended. He could hear the sound of feet approaching from behind. Suddenly he was seized by several pairs of hands. His right arm was twisted behind his back and the gun he was holding slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor as he was restrained by at least two men. He could not move without causing himself severe injury.
“I am a kind man, Mr Hingham. Come inside for a pleasant chat.” He didn’t have much of an option. He was propelled into the room by the two men and was forcefully shoved into an antique wooden chair. Jake had an idea that the chat was going to be far from pleasant.
Ironside started talking again. “So, you think that if you can free the girl and return her home that you would stop Arnold’s involvement with me?” He laughed out loud, shaking his head. “You don’t really know Detective Inspector Arnold very well do you? He would have done all of this for the money I offered alone.” Jake was surprised by that. “The other threats were just to make sure he didn’t involve anyone else.”
“Like me, for example?” Jake asked.
“Exactly like you, sir.” Jake could not believe how charming and polite this man appeared. He had an evil heart - if indeed he had a heart at all - but a voice of velvet.
“So, you’re telling me that if I somehow managed to rescue the daughter and return her home, Arnold would still do the drug trade in a few days?” Jake asked.
“Indeed. I don't know how you know so much, or even who you really are, but I find this fascinating.” Ironside was being anything but condescending. He seemed to really be enjoying this conversation. “Tell me Jake, how do you know about any of this?”
“You’ll think I’m crazy,” Jake warned.
“My friend, you walked into my house expecting armed guards holding nothing but a pistol. I already think you're crazy.” He smiled, as did Jake.
“My family were the victims of an attack, and the trail of their killers led me to you.”
“That doesn't sound too ridiculous.”
“It does when I tell you the attack hasn’t happened yet.”
Ironside looked confused. “I see.” He clearly didn't see at all.
Jake related the abbreviated version of the story, and Ironside listened intently. Ironside even provided drinks and biscuits for him. Anyone viewing from outside would think this was just a casual conversation between two friends. If the armed men had not been covering every possible exit, he would have believed it too.
“Well, I suppose you’ll want to see the girl you’ve come to rescue.” Ironside was talking down to him now like a misguided schoolboy. He stood up and beckoned Jake to follow him. This he did, again without much choice thanks to armed brutes either side of him. “It’ll be nice for her to have a visitor.” Ironside found the whole thing amusing and he spoke with light-heartedness and scepticism lacing his voice. Jake was not sure what to make of this man. The following hours would afford him the chance to get to know his nemesis a little better.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When Jake heard himself described as a ‘visitor’, for some reason he expected something other than to find himself sitting next to the Arnold girl as a second prisoner. Ironside made it sound much nicer than that, but this was undoubtedly what he had meant.
He was now sitting next to a seventee
n year old blond haired girl who was about five and a half feet tall and far too thin for her height. He determined that she looked nothing like her father. From what he had seen of her, she did not act much like him either. That was perhaps because she was still young and innocent enough to not be drawn too deeply into the crazy games of men as psychotic as Ironside.
At least they were being held in comfortable surroundings and could expect tea and scones every now and then. Ironside certainly knew how to treat his prisoners. He felt like he was being treated better than the staff, none of whom seemed very happy to be there.
As he was beginning to get comfortable in the large well-decorated ‘prison cell’, a surprisingly thin and weak looking man walked in holding a rifle. “Mr Hingham, will you please follow me?” It was a question, but he knew it was really a demand. “Mr Ironside requires your presence in the next room.” Jake nodded and followed the man, able to do so as Ironside's prisoners were not chained or cuffed to anything, just heavily guarded.
He walked through a couple of doors into a dark room. It was late afternoon, but the room was pitch black. Just a single small spotlight shone on a hard wooden chair.
“Jake!” He recognised Ironside’s overly enthusiastic voice. “Thank you for joining us. Your co-operation is much appreciated.” Cordial as always, he continued, explaining the purpose of this small meeting.
“You're probably wondering what this is about. The truth is the room is terribly decorated and I'm ashamed to show it to anyone.” This was obviously intended as something of a joke, but Jake knew he was probably half serious about the comment.
Without warning, Jake was forced into the seat and tied down. “I’m a patient man, Jake.” He could only hear voices now. The light had gone out and room was now perfectly black. “I believed half of your story, but only half. I’d appreciate the real story now, please.” He suddenly sounded less polite and less patient than he had seemed previously.
Jake was lost for words as to what to say next. He guessed he was about to find out why some people referred to him as the iron man. Without warning a shot was fired, with a deafening sound filling the room. At the same time Jake felt an excruciating pain in his left leg half way up his shin. He was starting to recognise the painful sensation of having just been shot.
When ears had stopped ringing from the shot being fired, Ironside spoke again, loudly. “As I said, I’m a patient man, but some things try my patience: Bad drivers, comb-overs, reality TV shows, and anything to do with rugby, to name just a few.” Jake could not see why Ironside had to take so long to say anything. He was in pain and he wanted to know exactly what he could do to ease it as soon as possible. “I was always a football man myself,” Ironside continued.
“So am I,” Jake responded, trying not to shout it in pain. He hoped Ironside would soon get to the point of the conversation.
“If you tell me where you got your information from I will get someone in here to ease your pain.”
“And if I don't tell you?”
“I would have thought one option was enough here, but you’d like a choice... If you do not tell me anything else, you may find a similar pain in other parts of your body.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Jake asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
“Oh no. I only do that when I have to. Sometimes death is the easy way out, don't you agree?” Jake could almost hear him smile. If the voice had been a little less distinctive, Jake would have sworn that this was a different person from the one he’d had a cosy chat with not too many minutes earlier.
“The truth is,” Jake prepared to lie, “my family did lead me here.”
“I guessed that,” Ironside responded.
“I talked with Arnold about it, and he tipped me off. He told me what he was being threatened with, but failed to mention the money he was being offered.”
“So he set you up?”
“It appears that way. You probably had nothing to do with my family’s deaths, and I realise that now. He just wanted me to fall into a trap.”
“Jake, I'm so sorry.” He sounded sincere. “So where did that story come from about time travel?”
“That’s what Arnold told me to tell you. He said you would believe a far-fetched story ahead of a sensible one.” Ironside roared with laughter. The sheer volume caused Jake to jump.
“He's exactly right! I confess I'll usually believe anything!” It seemed as if he would be laughing for hours. “My dear fellow, I am so sorry he involved you in all of this.”
Jake thought he would be released from the bands in a matter of minutes, but he was soon disabused of that idea. “I don’t usually let people go free when they know as much as you.”
Jake’s heart raced. He sat in silence now, with the room still dark. He expected a bullet in the chest to end the day.
“I’ll tell you what, I’ll put you back in the next room and I will give some serious thought as to what I should do next. And of course, we will deal with that nasty wound in your leg.” He spoke as if he had stumbled across Jake in this condition, rather than being the person responsible for it.
The light was turned on, flooding the room with bright light. Jake blinked rapidly as his eyes became accustomed to the sudden change in brightness. Almost before he knew it the pain in his leg was numbed by a painkilling injection, and had been well bandaged. From that point on, Ironside treated him like royalty. Jake, however, doubted whether Ironside would let him go at the end of it all.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“My dear fellow, I'm sorry again for shooting you,” Ironside apologised for about the five hundredth time. “I'm sure you understand.”
Jake nodded. He had forgiven him vocally several times already.
They were now well into the evening. It had been explained to Jake that he was technically a prisoner, but was in reality a guest. He would not be permitted to leave just yet, but would be able to do so within the next couple of days. After that, the knowledge he had would be redundant and he would be free to tell anyone about his adventures, sell his story, or do anything he wanted to do without interfering with Ironside’s future plans.
As they sat in a beautiful drawing room, Jake talked with Ironside about everything from football to religion to politics. Even though this man was, in very many ways, evil to the core, Jake had been able to see the amiable side of the man. His views on most of the everyday topics of conversation were not radical or ridiculous. They were much like the views of most of the people with whom Jake had worked throughout his career. The main difference was, of course, Ironside's willingness to opt for terrorism and crime ahead of something more befitting someone of his mentality. If he had chosen a more respectable line of work he would have been considered quite the gentleman by all, rather than as a tyrant by many.
He looked at the man sitting across the room. He was wearing an expensive suit. His hair was going grey, but it showed no signs of thinning. Jake guessed he was nearing sixty. He was not at all how he had pictured this man. He had assumed him to be an aggressive middle-aged man with no heart. He had expected anything but a clever, charming and quite amusing older man.
If Jake had not seen the evil side of this man earlier he would never have believed he was capable of inflicting pain on anyone or anything. Even when he became annoyed his features were soft and he still looked like a gentle old man.
The evening was coming to an end and Jake would soon be waking up in the previous day. “I know it's a bit cheeky,” Jake started, “but could you indulge me with the story of how you caught Arnold?”
The suggestion was met with a sceptical, one-eyebrow-raised look from Ironside. “I can’t see the harm in that. Consider it the final part of my grovelling apology for hurting you earlier.” Jake agreed, and Ironside spoke again. “It’s a long story, but we have plenty of time. Make yourself comfortable, Jake. I think you’ll find this story quite fascinating.”
CHAPTER 18
Wednes
day 21st January, 7:45am
Jake sat at breakfast considering the day he had just gone through. The alarm had already sounded several minutes earlier, and he was almost ready to head out to work.
He cast his mind back to yesterday’s events. He had no memory of going to sleep last night, but he must have drifted off at some point. The last thing he remembered was talking with Ironside about the events of today. He was happy to wake up today knowing exactly what had happened and exactly what he had to do. He knew almost every detail of the trade that would happen thanks to Ironside's willingness to share every detail he remembered. He even knew where Arnold was standing when he was apprehended.
Ironside had laid out every detail of the trade including location, time, and even who had been standing where inside the building. He was precise in his telling of the story. As far as he was concerned, it was all in the past and there was no harm in telling Jake all about it. If the man had considered Jake's first explanation as being plausible, he would not have been so willing to give away so much.
Jake could only describe Ironside as a gentleman's gangster. On the surface he was kind, considerate, and quite harmless, but underneath he was ruthless whenever occasion required him to release that side of his character.
As he cleared away his breakfast and finished getting ready for work, a thought occurred to Jake. This was potentially the last time he would wake up in yesterday. If he succeeded today, life would return to normal. He had thought up a plan yesterday and would hopefully be able to carry it through without a hitch.
He picked up his suit jacket and walked to the door, then remembered that he needed something. Amy had noticed him pause in mid-stride and simply smiled, then asked, "What have you forgotten?"
Jake had an object in the house that he had not even touched for a few years. He wondered whether he would be able to find it in just a couple of minutes of looking. He went up the stairs and went straight to the spare room, where they stored such unused items.
On the top of a set of bookshelves were several white cardboard storage boxes containing old toys he had kept possession of in case there was ever a need for them. If his memory served him correctly he would find the thing he was looking for in one of those three boxes.