The Gang of Four

The Bentley arrived at the village of Avebury and headed towards the two-mile long West Kennet Avenue, a line of paired standing stones that linked the village to the Sanctuary, one of several other Neolithic structures that peppered this landscape.

  ‘There he is!’ stated Michael, pointing down the length of the stones towards the Sanctuary.

  ‘Where?’ asked Russell.

  ‘He’s on that stone, there!’

  Russell finally caught sight of Mr. Waterstone. Sat atop a large standing stone, the cat was giving instructions to a group of men and women through a walkie-talkie. Everyone except Mr. Waterstone himself was dressed up in full druid regalia; they appeared to be conducting a geophysical survey of the stones.

  ‘What are they doing?’ asked Russell, as the Bentley approached.

  Michael studied the activity intently: ‘There are many ley lines that converge on this location. Mr. Waterstone is no doubt running some form of audit.’

  ‘Huh?’ replied Russell.

  The spider laughed: ‘I’m not sure either to be honest, ley lines, hay lines! It’s all pseudo-science to me – but don’t tell him I said that!’

  Everyone watched as the cat lowered the walkie-talkie from its mouth and began gesticulating to a distant druid who was standing within the avenue and looking confused. The man eventually sidestepped several times to his right which seemed to satisfy the cat. It signalled something on the radio and the man stopped and placed a pole in the ground.

  ‘Pull over there, Mr. Tebb,’ instructed Ceres, indicating a lay-by in which a Ford Transit was parked.

  Russell parked the car behind the van and everyone got out.

  ‘Hmm, “Warwick University Geology Department”,’ remarked Michael, reading the livery on the side of the van, ‘I guess they’re not real druids after all.’

  ‘You don’t say,’ replied Russell.

  ‘Hello!’ shouted one of the “druids” as she approached, ‘Sophie Haysom, Warwick University,’ she added, shaking Ceres’s hand.

  ‘Ceres. This is Mr. Tebb and Michael.’

  ‘Hey, guys! We’ll have to ask you to stay back while we complete our survey.’

  ‘No problem, we’re just here to collect him,’ Ceres replied, pointing at Mr. Waterstone who had now noticed them. The cat jumped down from his stone and handed the walkie-talkie to the nearest druid. There then followed a short conference as the cat and several druids hunched over a laptop to discuss their findings. In due course Mr. Waterstone came sauntering over to the car.

  ‘Earth energies suitably topped up, sir?’ enquired Michael.

  The cat nodded as it entered the Bentley and took its usual seat at the back.

  ‘Excellent,’ muttered Michael, somewhat sarcastically. He turned to Ceres: ‘Suggest we head on to the Red Lion now, ma’am, we’re a little pressed for time if we’re going to do those pictures at noon.’

  ‘Agreed, step lively, Mr. Tebb. Thank you, Sophie, you don’t mind if we take the cat with us do you?’

  Sophie Haysom signalled to the group by the laptop: ‘Are we finished with his project?’ One of the blokes nodded, and extended a thumb.

  ‘That would be fine.’

  No crop circles were evident as the gang sped through the picturesque rolling fields of Wiltshire on their way to the Red Lion Hotel, but the landscape did seem to have a strange unearthly quality about it. Russell glanced at his companions and realized that the term “unearthly” was a risky adjective to use. And besides, this impression was perhaps due only to the season and the weather: bleached by the endless heat wave the countryside was now completely devoid of greens. Pale buffs and yellowish off-whites stretched everywhere at ground level, whilst above, the hedgerows and trees, ripe and verdant as recently as a few weeks ago, had darkened significantly. With the appropriate backlighting and in sharp contrast to the pale fields, the trees rose up like silhouettes.

  ‘It’s quite a place this, init? Has a strange earthly quality about it, don’t you think?’ Russell remarked, as the car rounded a bend and the view ahead dramatically opened up.

  Ceres nodded, but she shot Russell a mocking and sarcastic look. It was just impossible to read that woman, or bond with her. Come to think of it, everyone who met her did bond with her! That ten-thousand watt charisma got turned on for almost anyone, even that idiot university woman dressed up as a druid. The only exception was Russell himself, who even now felt as though he was being treated like a fool. Of course, Ceres frequently turned on the flip-side of her charisma: the raging temper, the put-downs, the physical violence. At least Russell received his fair share of that.

  The panorama ahead revealed something that Michael clearly did not want to see: ‘Uh oh!’

  ‘What is it?’ asked Russell.

  ‘Combine harvester… and there’s another.’

  ‘So!?’ Russell snorted.

  ‘They’re bringing the harvest forward because of the hot dry weather. They’ll all be at it within a few days.’

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Russell persisted.

  ‘Crop circles,’ replied Michael. ‘They don’t mix with combine harvesters.’

  ‘There’s a couple more over to the left,’ added Ceres, looking pensive.

  ‘Pull over at the next lay-by, Russell,’ ordered Michael. Russell did as he was told and as soon as the vehicle had come to a stop Michael bounced out over his closed door and scuttled around to the boot. The others quickly followed.

  Russell watched as Michael retrieved a couple of aerial drones and then sent them into the air. Within seconds they were both dots. Seconds later, they were gone.

  ‘You’re not going to take out the combines are you, Michael?’ asked Russell, concerned. This gang never gratuitously picked on humans but anyone who got in their way soon knew about it.

  ‘The UAVs are going to investigate our two known circles. Just to make sure they haven’t been harvested!’

  ‘And what if the farmer is planning to harvest, as he may well do if his crop is being ruined by circles.’

  No one replied.

  The Bentley arrived at the Red Lion hotel at precisely eleven twenty-eight, according to Michael.

  ‘Do we have enough time for your images?’ asked Russell as he nervously eyed the car park. This was the location of their arrest the previous night; it occurred to him that they might not be very welcome here now.

  ‘If “part three” has turned up and the croppies can give us a grid reference then we can just fire up another drone, but let’s get a move on; chop chop!’ replied Michael.

  ‘Perception filters to maximum,’ said Russell, as they entered the hotel, but he knew what was coming: only Michael would remain unnoticed; yesterday’s commotion would be vividly remembered.

  ‘How about relying on your diplomatic skills instead?’ replied Ceres. That confirmed it, as did the initial reaction from the landlord:

  ‘OUT!! You lot are banned!! Get out NOW!!’

  ‘Over to you, Russell,’ said Michael, with a smirk in his voice.

  ‘Err, umm, can we just have a quick word with the croppies, please.’

  ‘You can get the hell off my premises is what you can do! I’m calling the police.’

  Ceres began giggling uncontrollably.

  ‘You, “madam”, are just as bad as him!!’ shouted the landlord at Ceres, ‘I’m calling the police!’

  ‘Would it help if we agreed to avoid your filthy cider?’ replied Ceres, still laughing.

  The landlord looked ready to spontaneously combust, but he failed to find any words.

  Russell turned to Michael: ‘I can’t handle this, what should I do?’

  ‘You could try apologizing,’ replied the spider, ‘but you’d better make it a good one. He does look rather cross.’

  The landlord reached for his phone but then changed his mind: ‘Kev!! …KEV!!’ he screamed.

  After two more shouts a large burly twenty-something burst into the bar: ‘What!?’

  ‘Escort thi
s lot out of the hotel, now!’ replied the landlord.

  Kev turned to regard the group, but he only seemed to notice Russell. He smiled slightly, anticipating trouble. ‘I remember you! Fancy yourself as a hard nut, do ya?’

  ‘Yes, he does,’ replied Ceres.

  Before Russell could say anything Kev grabbed hold of him and was about to frogmarch him out of the hotel.

  ‘Wait!’ Ceres bellowed. She turned to Michael: ‘We don’t really have time for any of this, do we?’

  ‘Umm… regrettably not, ma’am, suggest we try Russell’s original idea – “perception filters to maximum” whatever that means!’

  Kev still held Russell by the back of his collar, with his other arm poised ready to place him in an arm lock. But he wasn’t moving. Russell glanced at the landlord who, though still glaring at him, wasn’t saying or doing anything else either. Russell struggled to free himself but that triggered Kev to apply the arm lock.

  ‘They’re waiting,’ said Ceres.

  ‘Waiting for what?’ replied Russell still struggling in Kev’s vice-like grip.

  ‘For an apology,’ Ceres added, looking genuinely annoyed.

  ‘That’s right, sonny, let’s have it!!’ added the landlord.

  Russell prepared to hurl abuse at the landlord.

  ‘Russell!!’ warned Michael.

  ‘Oh, all right! I’m sorry I got drunk on your scrumpy and caused a scene with your inbred brain-dead clientele... It won’t happen again... Pete.’

  Mr. Waterstone gawped at Russell, then Ceres and then Michael. He was clearly fascinated by all this and probably wondering what he’d been missing.

  ‘Was that so difficult?’ replied the landlord; he nodded at Kev who grudgingly released Russell.

  Ceres led the rest of the gang into the communal hall. Once again Celia Browning was in attendance and analyzing with great interest the new crop circle pictures.

  ‘Good morning!’ said Ceres.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ replied Celia, somewhat haughtily. She shot Russell a disdainful glance but said nothing to him. Her attention returned to the pictures.

  ‘Anything interesting come in since yesterday?’ Ceres enquired.

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact we’re all quite excited by this one!’ Celia pointed to a large photograph on the table. ‘Gunter Bosman and his team are over at the site now. They’re sure it’s not a manmade circle.’

  Michael studied the image: a full circle composed of intersecting smaller circles and triangles. ‘Not one of ours. It’s probably just a real one, ma’am.’

  ‘Hmm, yes,’ replied Ceres; she studied the picture for several seconds before pointing something out to Michael: ‘Look.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I missed that,’ replied Michael.

  Ceres’s attention moved on to the other images scattered over the table.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Russell, ‘what do you mean: “it’s probably just a real one”!?’

  ‘Look for another 120 degree sector, that’s all we’re interested in.’

  ‘So who, or what, is making the real ones!?’ Russell persisted.

  ‘You wouldn’t understand,’ said Michael.

  ‘They originate from the Earth itself,’ replied Celia, ‘the planet communicates with us through these.’

  ‘Is that right, fella? This all your doing?’ asked Russell, looking to see where Mr. Waterstone had got to. There was no sign of him.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Celia, ‘we believe the planet is warning us on a whole range of issues. We have some very talented people who are able to interpret these pictograms: Earth, it seems, desires us to lead a more harmonious and empathic existence…’

  As Celia droned on, almost lost in her own reverie, Russell sidled over to the door; he opened it slightly to steal a look at the bar. Mr. Waterstone had plonked himself on one of the barstools and was finishing off a pint of scrumpy; he was already ordering his second. Kev sat next to the cat and was also knocking back the cider. Russell continued to watch as Kev took Mr. Waterstone’s empty glass and carefully placed it on the cat’s fat head. It was a good fit, much to the merriment of Kev, and the landlord.

  Mr. Waterstone didn’t react much, he seemed preoccupied with the arrival of his second pint. He made no attempt to remove the glass. Russell carefully closed the door and returned to the others.

  ‘Trouble brewing,’ he muttered to Ceres.

  ***