Chapter Six.
Feeling full of the joys of spring, and happy to be back in my own clothes, I left the bathroom, feeling famished. I hadn't eaten a lot that day and thought that a quick trip to kitchen wouldn't be amiss; so instead of going straight to the big room, I turned left rather than right.
The apartment was a lot larger than I'd originally thought, and I passed several rooms before reaching a set of double doors with round glass portholes. Peering through the glass, I saw that the carpet had been replaced by more practical flooring, so I pushed the door open, and the smell of freshly baked bread led me straight to the kitchen. It was more like a hotel kitchen with large steel cabinets, worktops, fridge, and a huge range.
The cook, a young Arab dressed in kitchen whites, was chopping onions, and raised his eyebrows. I pointed at my mouth. He shrugged, so I tried again; this time a complex mime involving the fridge, the stove and ending up pointing at a plate, my mouth and then finishing with rubbing my stomach.
"So you're hungry then, Mister Gabriel," he said with a perfect English accent, grinning. I sighed and sat down.
"Nice one … erm …?"
"Farzid, I am Rajit's elder brother."
"It's good to meet you, and yes, please, I'm starved." I sat down at the table and watched as he cooked me scrambled eggs, long strips of some spicy sausage, and couscous; along with a small cup of the strongest, sweetest coffee I'd ever tasted.
I was so involved with eating that I totally forgot the time.
"Rats, I'm supposed to be in the big room. Sorry, got to go, they're waiting for me," I said, finishing my coffee and getting up. "Thank you for the food, Farzid."
"My pleasure, Mister Gabriel, my pleasure."
"Please, call me Gabe," I said, holding out my hand. He inclined his head as we shook.
I made my way to the big room, which was empty, the large metal trunk I'd seen in the elevator now propped against the wall just inside the doorway. I wandered over to Martin's area, hoping to sneak up on him, but there was no one there either. The computers and monitors were switched off, the chairs tucked away under the desk. Then I saw a folded piece of paper on the keyboard with 'G.D.' scrawled on it and smiled as I opened it.
It said: 'Gabe, nice food hmm? Don't mind all of us waiting for you, though now you'll have to find us yourself! M. P.S. - SoN rules!'
I folded it with care and slipped it into my back pocket, my heart singing a silly song as I looked around.
"Hello! … hellooooo!" There was no reply, so I thought I'd check the outside pool area I hadn't seen yet. The moment I opened the balcony door, the sounds of a hushed argument hit me.
I wasn't normally someone who listened to other people's conversations, but the "It's gone on too long, and it's not fair, you have to tell him" from the mouth of John 'the fuckwit' Simpson, followed by Brian's answering, "I can't, John, I can't. It's too late", piqued my interest. They could have been talking about anyone, but I had a sneaking suspicion it was me they were referring to. I took a deep breath and walked out. They were glaring at each other, standing almost nose to nose, and didn't see me.
"Well?" I said, looking at them. Startled, they both turned, and for the first time I could remember, Brian, my best friend, wouldn't look me in the eye, whilst John, the twin I loathed, glanced back at him almost with pity, then tutted, turned on his heel and walked off. I gave Brian a nervous smile.
"Your brother's still a bitch, eh? Bri?"
"No!" he cried, finally looking at me. "Oh Christ, Gabe" -- I could see he was trying not to cry -- "I'm so … so sorry." Tears started seeping out of his screwed up face. I stood open-mouthed, and with no real idea of what was wrong and what to do to put it right, I walked over and hugged him. Brian broke down completely and started sobbing on my shoulder, so I half walked, half carried him over to a bench seat near the Jacuzzi at the head of the pool and sat him down.
"What's wrong, Brian? Please tell me and I'll do my best to fix it." I started stroking his back and looked around to see if there was anyone else I could ask for help, then decided that it was probably a good thing there wasn't.
The pool, which was in a widened 'S' shape, had a slide and waterfall at the far end, fed from a higher terrace, though I couldn't see any way to get up there. Just as I was looking, John sauntered into view at the top and leant on the railings, looking down at us. My temper got the better of me, and I shot to my feet.
"You bastard, John," I yelled, "what have you done to him?" He didn't reply, just shrugged and walked off. I sat down and, for lack of any better idea, patted Brian on the back again. He seemed to shrink into himself.
"Please don't, Gabe, I don't deserve it."
I cleared my throat.
"'course you do, and in a minute, my friend, I'm going to go and pound some sense into your brother, and then …."
"I'm a bad friend, Gabe," he interrupted, looking directly at me for the first time, his green eyes filled with tears. He sniffed, then, pulling down the cuff of his sweatshirt, rubbed at his eyes. I froze.
"What do you mean, Brian? What's John been saying? You know he'll do anything to bust up our friendship, you told me so yourself and …."
"He didn't start the rumours, I did." He spoke in a monotone, still looking at me, and I couldn't help it; I backed away from him.
"You … you did?"
"Uh huh."
I blinked, then clenched my fists.
John, Brian and I had gone to the same schools seemingly forever. I'd met them both at kindergarten and we'd become 'The Terrible Three'. Always hanging out together, always causing whatever trouble could be caused and having the most fun we could fit into the day.
Then, in the spring break just after our thirteenth birthdays, with Brian ill in bed with measles, John and I had found ourselves alone in 'the dungeon' in the basement of my house. My parents were out, and with the sound of a light spring rain coming through the window, I had picked up my guitar and we'd written a song.
It was the most fun we'd ever had, and I set up the computer to record it. We were practising harmonies, joking and jostling one another, and somehow I'd ended up falling into his bright green eyes. He'd looked back at me, and either he moved or I did, but the end result was our first kiss. As kisses go it wasn't wonderful, but it was magical. That afternoon, shyly at first and then boldly as our raging adolescent hormones kicked in, we'd explored each others' bodies, had discovered we liked it, had come.
Brian was ill for nearly two weeks, and John and I spent every moment we could together. Exploring, refining, and all under the bestest possible pinky oath of never, ever, telling a soul.
The next term, almost as soon as we got back to school, the rumours started: I was a queer, a pansy, a poof, a cocksucker, and worse. I denied it, but boys like having scapegoats for their own insecurities and that term it was me. Whatever I said, I'd get sideways glances, come across conversations that stopped as I arrived.
It had to have been John, there was no other possible explanation; no one else knew …. I'd confronted him, and I'd pounded him, and he neither tried to stop me nor denied it. From that moment on I'd hated him with a vengeance.
I short-circuited, and punched the back of the bench right by Brian's face. The crack of the wood and the pain hit me at the same time and I yelled, screamed, right in his face.
"Bastard!" I was panting, wanting to hurt him so badly the frustration made me take a second shot. More pain. I glanced down, saw the blood dripping from my knuckles, then with clenched teeth looked him directly in the eye.
"Why?" I whispered. Brian's eyes were a darker shade of green than John's, and seemed plaintive. He shook his head, got to his feet, and I watched in total shock as he walked back into the apartment, before I started to cry.
Martin's hand squeezing my shoulder pulled me from my reverie. I was about to speak when he put his fingers to his lips and grabbed me by the hand.
"Oww, fuck!" I hissed. He looked at me, unsure of what he'd done, so gingerly, I showed him my knuckles.
"What did you do?" he asked in a whisper, looking horrified. I shook my head, and watched as he ran back into the apartment, returning a few minutes later with a first aid kit. With a detached and precise air, he cleaned and disinfected my hand and then bandaged it.
"Ok?" he whispered finally.
"Yeah; thanks Martin." He smiled, took my other hand and pulled me to my feet, and we set off around the pool.
We walked in behind the waterfall and whilst I wasn't surprised to see a door, the kiss that Martin gave me did surprise. I smiled, locking the pain of Brian's betrayal away, and was kissing him back when the door opened and the Red Hot Chili Peppers nearly blew us off our feet.
"Fuck, that's loud!" I shouted at Sellick, who was trying to wipe a grin off his face and failing miserably. He pulled us inside, and shutting the door with his foot, held up a piece of paper.
'Don't speak, probably bugged!' it said in a hurried cursive. I nodded and saw that the low-ceilinged and cramped room we were in held the rest of 'The Boys'. Most of them were huddled around a laptop taking turns to type, whilst Lolly was sitting on a large floor cushion with his arms around his younger brother. Davey had his eyes shut, looking totally miserable, and I realised I'd forgotten that he'd been badly beaten by Ashmiel's henchman just a few hours ago.
"Back in a sec," I mouthed at Martin, squeezing his arm, and walked over to them. Lolly gave me a wan smile as I knelt down, wrapped my arms around Davey and gave him a hug.
"How are you doing?" I whispered in his ear. He sniffed loudly.
"'m ok, I think," he answered almost too quietly for me to hear.
"You saved our lives, Doofus, and if there's anything, anything I can ever do, just ask … ok?"
He wrapped his arms around my back and gave me a crushing hug before sniffing again and letting go.
"Thank you, Gabe." We smiled at each other. Patting them both on the shoulders, I stood up, went over, and, elbowing Sellick out of the way, looked at the laptop. Jamal smiled at me, scrolled back up and let me read.
They'd been discussing what was happening and I saw that Martin had filled them in on what he knew. The consensus was that the apartment was bugged, which was why we were suffering the volume cranked to eleven. As I scrolled down, I saw that Martin had found key-loggers on several computers.
Key-loggers are nasty bits of spy-ware. They capture everything you do on a computer and can send the information anywhere in the world, over the Internet. Software key-loggers are hard to detect and often get missed by computer security.
"Hard or software key-loggers?" I typed, then looked at Martin with raised eyebrows.
"Both," he mouthed, and I blanched before covering it up with a smile, then grabbed him by the hand and walked him over to a corner. Hardware key-loggers have to be fitted by hand.
"You know that means something is rotten in the state of Denmark," I whispered in his ear, taking the opportunity to breathe in his scent and take a nibble on his ear lobe. He shuddered, then turning my head he returned the favor, nibbling with interest and running his fingers through my hair as he did.
"Yah, we know. Jamal is livid. All his staff have been vetted by his father's security service and MI5 … they're supposed to be clean."
"Ten minutes ago I'd have said it was John Simpson, but now I'm not sure."
"Why? And what have you got against John, Gabe?" I was about to snap at him, then realised he didn't know the history, so scratched my head instead, before pulling him into a hug.
"Please, not now, I'll tell you later." Sighing, I gazed at him, realising that fate had handed me the best gift ever -- along with a terrifying problem to deal with. A kind of 'this is yours if you can deal with that' situation.
"What am I going to do, Martin, what the hell am I going to do?"
"It's not just you anymore, Gabe. It's us," he waved around the room, "and we're good, my friend, we're really good." I'd almost forgotten we weren't alone, and glanced at them all huddled around the computer. JJ caught my eye and winked before turning back to the screen and sliding his arm around John's neck. The Scottish guy, Alex, was stroking his chin, deep in thought, whilst Sellick, paying not the slightest attention, played air guitar to the Chili Peppers.
The door opened and Rajit slipped through, closing it behind him and walking straight over to Jamal. He was dressed in black from head to toe, with jeans, a rollneck jumper, and a shoulder holster. I couldn't believe it.
"Is that a shoulder holster?" I said. Martin grinned at me.
"Yep, and that thing in it is called a gun." I huffed at him, frowning as I realised I was making a tit of myself.
"But this is England, guns aren't … legal, or cricket."
Martin took off his spectacles and started to clean them, before pausing and leaning in close to my ear.
"You were shot at yesterday, weren't you? They didn't seem to have a problem with guns, so should we not carry them 'cause they're illegal? Perhaps we could tell them off, and they'll just throw them away, hmm? John Palmer's a prefect, suggest it to him." He ended with a swift bite on my ear lobe, then finished cleaning his glasses as I pondered a witty reply.
Silence: the Chili Peppers vanished, and I saw the others were standing by the door watching Martin and me with expressions that varied from Jamal's small smile to JJ's shit-faced grin. Rajit had the laptop under his arm and was trying hard not to laugh, as Sellick whispered something in his ear.
"Follow me quietly, please," Jamal said, and we all trooped out the door, turning right under the waterfall, and through a biometrically controlled door into a stairwell.
Martin and I found ourselves near the back of the line, between Sellick and Jamal, who was bringing up the rear. We went down flight after flight of stairs, passed the garage and sub-basement levels, and finally arrived at a doorway marked 'sub-basement 3.' Again Jamal gave a retinal scan, and the door, which was closer to the thickness of a safe, silently swung open to reveal a tunnel. Overhead lighting flickered on and we walked forward until we were all inside.
Rajit had just closed the door behind us when the ground shuddered and shook at the same time as we felt rather than heard a muffled 'BOOM!'
Dust gently rained down on us as we looked at each other, considering the impossible. I was turning to see if Rajit was still ok when the lights flickered and went out.
"Shit!" It crossed my mind it was shouted in an almost perfect six part harmony.
"Has anyone got a light?" Jamal said matter-of-factly, as I felt Martin grab hold of my elbow and work his way down until we were holding hands. A lighter flicked on, throwing grotesque shadows on the arched roof. Dark as it was, Martin looked pale. I squeezed his hand, and he gave me a small smile back.
"Ow!" The light went out.
"Burnt your wee fingers have you, Sellick?" Alex said quietly, just as dim emergency lighting switched on.
"Right, time to run like the wind, I think," Jamal said and started running, with us following behind.
The tunnel sloped down at a shallow angle before flattening out as we reached an intersection, where Jamal turned right. I'd lost all sense of direction, though I noticed we passed several rough wooden doors deeply inset into the tunnel walls. After two more intersections the route sloped up again, ending at a flight of old metal steps, at the top of which was a door with another biometric lock. Jamal opened it and we walked out into what I recognised as the old World War II bunker by the skate park.
No one had spoken since we'd set off, and I now found myself in a fog of terror. The stench of urine and rubbish strewn around the floor of the bunker, along with the wailing of sirens, snapped me back to reality. There were no two ways about it -- it had been an explosion, and I was to blame.
With Martin still firmly holding my hand and giving me small smiles whenever he saw I was paying him attention, we walked through the woods until we were close enough to see the wreck of what had been Jamal's apartment, but were still hidden from view under cover of the trees.
The explosion had taken off the entire top of the building and rained rubble down into the street below, which was being cordoned off by police in fluorescent yellow jackets. Everything was covered with a thick layer of grey dust; cars crushed; a steel girder embedded in the gates to the park, not far from where we stood.
The front of Jamal's apartment had vanished, and a small waterfall, presumably the contents of his swimming pool, cascaded ten stories to the ground, hindering the few rescue workers who had already arrived.
"What have I done?" I whispered, looking at the devastation. Martin squeezed my hand, and the part of my brain that was working saw him checking the others. He turned to me, and put his hands on my shoulders.
"Gabe, did Brian and John leave?"
I wasn't crying; it was just that tears were running down my face; and the sobs couldn't have been me either. I sank to my knees, and still Martin held me.
Like an automaton I said, "Brian and I argued, he went inside and John was …." I gulped, "John was on the terrace above the waterfall." I couldn't breathe, couldn't think clearly. I felt that my body and brain were shutting down. I started to shiver, and began chewing my lower lip.
"I've killed them … Brian and John are dead and it's my fault. Jamal's apartment has been blown up, Brian and John are dead, and it's all my fault."
Martin didn't reply.
Chapter 5 •
Index •
Chapter 7
Seraph by Camy © 2006/2007/2008
Thanks to Kitty, for all the editorial input and tweaking.
She has made this tale much, much better than it was. Gassho.
