Chapter 122

 

London, 1985

 

Stewart Sheppard had never actually believed his captors intended to set him free. However, at the start of his ordeal the masked faces, the care they took not to label one another, allowed him a glimmer of hope.

Then came the morning the unmasked gladiator burst into his room to beat the crap out of him and he saw that glimmer fade away. He’d picked up quickly on Jason’s involvement in the kidnapping scheme and that morning confirmed it. At first the urge to throttle Jason Connors was strong but then it came to him, the boy was as dead as himself. They’d apparently convinced Jason that they didn’t intend to kill this friend of his brother’s. That promise couldn’t be kept so they would have to kill the boy too. No way could these men chance that once released, his own conscience wouldn’t have the lad spilling out the truth.

As it became a daily struggle not to let the fear of coming death overshadow what brief life they had left, Stewart discovered that the need to cushion reality for Jason helped him maintain his own sanity. He soon found himself in the position of a big brother, a role he never imagined he would play.

In an age blessed with batteries and individual generators the bunker was fairly comfortable. A routine established its self and the small group functioned amicably within their limited boundaries. The attack by Martin with its accompanying battle created a change in Sheppard’s status. With their masks forfeit, the locks on their tongues dissolved and his captors emerged as individuals.

He was allowed freedom to the extent no one stopped him from using the toilet on his own or going into the dining area. The galley was off-limits and what he believed to be the information center, but he soon picked up enough from the telly and conversations to figure out what was taking place.

~~~

 

Rory Hanlon had been gone for most of one day and when he returned he brought the latest newspapers. The law limited camera crews to trying to catch a quick shot between the hospital ward and the courthouse. But the defense was furnishing daily prints and updates to the newsmen.

Since the early days of the trial, Sheppard had come to realize there was a bond of some kind between David Martin and the teenage defendants. Though Martin never said so, Sheppard felt the emotion in the man when he discussed their situation.

“Dede has always been such a lovely child.” Sheppard added his comment to the reactions of others as they looked at the distressing pictures of the starving young prisoners.

“Tough little baggage. If they can end this quickly she’ll pull through,” Martin said. “The bigger worry is the lad. Sean never took part in any of Deirdre’s games.” He looked up, his cold stare on Sheppard’s face. “Now the lad has lost his fear, he may lose his common sense. I swear some bastard’s ass is mine when I get back home.”

Sheppard also picked up on the fact that something that had gone wrong in the beginning was being corrected, and his captors were anticipating getting on with their lives.

A desire to save Jason made Sheppard try to convince Martin the lad could be trusted. Martin had laughed at his concern.

“No one is worried about Jas. If he opened his mouth, his family would lose big time. A lad don’t have relatives like his without learning when to keep his mouth properly shut.”

So he’d been wrong, they never planned to kill Jason—only him.

“With Jason’s involvement, I would be a damn fool myself to give any of you up. If I were to claim Jason helped kidnap me; he’d be guilty of a capital crime. The fact I’m missing has been kept quiet; I wouldn’t be surprised if Jason is the reason. Can you imagine the ridicule that would bring on my mother? After this circus of a trial, arresting a kidnap victim…” Sheppard pressed his case with Martin every chance he got.

 He didn’t work very hard on Hanlon since he felt that would be wasted breath. So he was taken by surprise when both approached him and Hanlon held out his hand. Sheppard was quick to accept the gesture with his own firm grip.

“Game time called for lack of interest.” Hanlon said. “Wouldn’t help the score if you sold us out. That’s one victory that could be disastrous to your own government. Martin claims you won’t. Like to believe it?”

“Believe it.” Sheppard realized he had spoken too quickly, so he grinned and added. “I’m real fond of the idea of growing old.”

“Could be rough.” Martin seemed to be reconsidering their earlier discussions, when they had both made commitments, that if kept would grant them a future. “Facing the law? Your mother? Not answering questions.”

“I’ll carry it off.” Sheppard re-enforced his previous pledge. “I’ve never gone back on my word.”

A few days back, Martin had told him, “Time comes lad, when we all just go home.” It was starting to look like he hadn’t lied. With faces imprinted on his brain, with knowledge that could cause a global stink, they seemed prepared to let him go free.

Since he could only pray this wasn’t a farce, this new situation seemed unimportant and Hanlon’s order rather comical. He couldn’t understand why Jason was reacting so badly.

 “I damn well, will not. Why should I?”

“Don’t give me no more trouble—shuck down.” Hanlon made a grab at the boy’s shirt and Jason danced away. “It would sure be some scary sight, they walk in here and find the two of you just prancing around waiting for ‘em.”

“Davy,” Jason bellowed. “Rory wants to leave us buck-naked in that cell!” He spun to confront the ginning features of David Martin and his tone rose even higher. “It’s not funny! Locked in! What if somebody comes—nobody comes!”

“Cover up with this.” Hanlon tossed the boy a blanket as he snickered. “ ‘Fraid your English buddy’s gonna rape you?” Turning on Sheppard, he snapped, “What are you waiting for?”

Preferring a bit of embarrassment to more violent consequences, Sheppard immediately began removing his clothing. Actually these preparations they were involved in were further alleviating his concern for he felt it was unlikely they would bother with them if they intended to just put a bullet in their brains.

~~~

 

Shortly, the unhappy Jason, with his hide wrapped tightly in the woven fabric, plunked down on the cot in the cell complaining, “We’ll freeze our asses.”

“Not likely.” Martin said, “You’ll be watched. Nobody fetches you by dark; I’ll come take you out myself.”

Suddenly the anger left the boy and worry crept into his tone as he whispered, “Davy, it’s all working like we planned?”

“On target! Just hold your tongue. You two may be alone for a couple of hours so don’t give Sheppard any more than he already has. The real tough part is still ahead of you. You can’t fold on us now.”

“I won’t Davy. I’m a pretty good actor.” This drew a grin from Martin and earned a light cuff to Jason’s cheek. “What about you? Where will you hide?”

“Hide?” Was followed by a surprised laugh. Then Martin glanced over at Sheppard as if the man would confirm his statement. “I’ve no need to hide. Only thing that concerns me is a bullet and I’m fair at dodging them. My kind don’t rate an arrest or a trial.”

Shortly, in the gloom of a single electric bulb, sitting in the cell, Jason attempted to light a cigarette and his hands trembled. “Relax.” Stewart smiled as he flicked his own lighter for the boy. “Let’s work on your recital,” he offered. “Abnormal personalities.” He gave a sharp groan. “Sort of fits the mood.”

“Shit!” Jason flipped open a can of Harps ale.

“Have to pass the time some way.”

Jason didn’t answer. They sat listening to the commotion in the other rooms as the departing crew finished removing or destroying traceable items. The noise grew less and less until soon an eerie silence reigned. Then Stewart took a deep audible sigh as a final nervous shudder released him and he began, “Since normal is never perfect—”

And the grateful youth picked up the refrain, “Most humans experience anxiety, frustration, and conflict that they cannot always cope with in a successful manner. So normal means continuing to function more or less satisfactorily despite our problems…”

~~~

 

The message, given in flawless English hinting at foreign birth, left Inspector Dan Mitchell with an ugly realization. How many times had he driven past Stewart Sheppard’s prison? Had they been watching him? Laughing at him. A sunken cellar beneath Franco Baumont’s funeral pyre. The bastards! Was that explosion the meaning of the ‘fourth of July’ message? Was he chasing his tail for something that already happened? No, he couldn’t accept that.

The gas explosion could have been part of it but there was more. Now as the lead car headed the convoy into North East London a sudden concern filled his mind. If they could murder one of their own to build a safe house, what were they capable of doing to the offspring of their enemies? And he ordered, “Hit the sirens!”

They encircled a four block area, hesitated long enough to ascertain they were not approaching a carefully laid trap, then broke into the bunker in a wave of bodies and weapons.

Hearing them coming, Jason yelled out. “It’s okay! They’ve gone!”

“Need a locksmith,” someone bellowed.

“Let’s try these.” Mitchell jangled some keys he’d lifted from the floor. He inserted one and the cell door swung open.

“Take it easy now, lads.” The sight of the captives’ faces would remain with most of these rescuers to enhance their tales for years to come.

“You’ve had a rough time of it.”

But Dan Mitchell saw a different scene as he lifted a package of Players cigarettes from the bunk and kicked over a can of Harps beer. “You have some things to tell me?”

“Let the questions wait.” The American embassy official quickly threw a protective arm about the boy’s shoulders. “We’ll see to his physical condition first. You can talk to him later.”

Mitchell let a stare rest on the youth’s face and Jason suddenly found the floor interesting. “Your girlfriend lost fifty pounds,” he said. “Her face looks like a Halloween mask. Was it worth it?”

“Mr. Mitchell! It can keep…”

“Go on, take him out of here.” He turned on Sheppard. “You can talk to me?”

“Later, most assuredly.” The young man answered. “Perhaps when I’ve regained my britches and some semblance of dignity.”