"Nice place," said Wayne, to himself, out loud, admiring the view out of Tom Hudson
’
s lounge window. Looking back into the room he noticed the splendid antiques and original oil paintings that adorned the living room and study. The place stank of opulence. Wayne had stopped for a brief moment to look at a photo of Hudson and his two children that was positioned on the splendid Italian marble fireplace. Next to it he noticed a photo of Hudson and Samuel Black, both holding up a prize fish next to what was, presumably, Hudson
’
s cruiser. A good-looking man with a strong chin and heavy dark moustache, Hudson was a keen fisherman.
Wayne had easily broken into the apartment leaving no sign of damage. As he passed by the main bedroom he noticed his own reflection in a mirror on the wall, six feet one and of slim build with very short cropped hair, he prided himself on his tough, soldier, image. He opened his mouth and checked his teeth and tongue in the mirror before sitting down on the plush carpet next to a data plug on the wall.
Fifteen minutes later he was back in his hotel room. It was a top rated hotel and the rooms were luxurious but still sparse in comparison to the opulence of Hudson
’
s place. Switching on his laptop he sat down to check out the contents of Hudson
’
s hard drive but a detailed search routine for words and comments revealed no reference to
‘
M13
’
or the people involved in the project. Wayne wondered if Hudson had actually received anything at all from Black.
A check of Hudson
’
s schedule revealed that he had booked a table-for-two at a sea front restaurant called Chez Michel
’
s in Fisherman's Wharf for this very evening, at eight forty-five. Seconds later he was viewing the restaurant section of the computer menu. It showed Chez Michel
’
s as having three tables vacant. Wayne booked a table for eight-thirty, set a wake up call on the computer alarm for six-thirty, lay on the bed, and fell asleep.
Chez Michel
’
s was busy when he arrived and the atmosphere was relaxed and noisy from the buzz of conversation and laughter. Waiters were busy scurrying around serving cocktails to the clients, mostly from the journalistic fraternity. Discussions about tomorrow
’
s headlines, politics, scandals and news-breaks were commonplace. It was the place to be seen if you were involved in journalism.
Wayne was enjoying his first course of garlic pate when Tom Hudson and a female companion entered the restaurant. Both were smiling and looked relaxed as a waiter showed them to their table, some distance from Wayne. Hudson was carrying a large brown envelope, which he placed on the table next to him. The small microphone placed under their table by Wayne, earlier, was working well and his earpiece was picking up every noise.
"I
’
m glad you could make it, Susan, especially at such short notice."
"Well, I tell you, it almost cost me a divorce, Tom. If you can drive me home by eleven o
’
clock, I think my marriage just might survive. I hope it
’
s as red hot as you indicated over the phone."
“
Oh, it
’
s red hot baby, believe me." Hudson gently pushed the chair in behind her as she took her place at the table facing Wayne.
"Did you enjoy your trip to London, Tom?"
"Yes, I did thank you."
"Business or pleasure this time?"
"Pure pleasure this time, Susan; pure pleasure," replied Hudson with a wide smile. "And, something I intend to do more often in the future."
"Anyone I know, Tom?
”
Susan enquired with an inquisitive look.
"A golfing colleague, no one special my dear,"retorted Hudson, playing the whole thing down. "Anyway, enough of that, let
’
s talk business."
"What is it, Tom?"
"Hi guys," interjected a young waiter. "May I get you some cocktails before your meal?"
“
Yeah. What will you take, Susan?" Enquired Hudson.
"I
’
ll have a Baby Boomer please."
"I
’
ll have a mineral water." Hudson said, smiling.
"One Baby Boomer, one mineral water coming right up," replied the waiter.
After the waiter had moved off, Hudson threw a brown envelope across the table to Susan.
"Read this," he said, in an excited tone.
Susan removed the document from the envelope and started to read. Hudson watched her as she speed-read the individual pages in a matter of seconds. She was wearing a black evening dress and a gold necklace. Her hair, as black as her dress, was cut short in a bob style and she looked much younger than her age. Her glossy red lipstick contrasted with her pale complexion, consciously cultured by avoiding direct sunlight for many years, partly because of her vanity to remain youthful looking but mainly prompted by her fathers death from skin cancer, some fifteen years before.
She looked up. "This has to be real, Tom, there
’
s too much detail to doubt it."
"That
’
s what I thought."
"So where did it come from?"
"I was given it by someone on the inside," said Hudson quietly.
"Why?"
"Guilty conscience.
”
Hudson couldn
’
t tell her the real truth of how he had blackmailed Samuel Black for the last ten years and how he had destroyed his life. Hudson felt no guilt when he told Black
’
s wife on his recent trip to London, that he loved her and wanted to be with her always. Kim was blissfully unaware that Samuel had been destroyed by this evil man and that his wealth was partly due to her circuit winnings. She thought of him as her caring and attentive lover.
Susan continued to read as the waiter returned with the two drinks and placed them in the middle of the table.
"You guys ready to order?"
"Not yet buddy
—
I
’
ll call you when we want to eat."
"Sure thing, sir.
”
"Holy Shit, Tom! What the hell are you gonna do with this stuff?" commented Susan without looking up.
"That
’
s why I asked you here tonight...I don
’
t know yet." Hudson picked up his mineral water and took a large slug.
"Tom
…
this contains details of Presidential correspondence."
"Oh I know baby. There is also a denial, by the President, to a High Church delegation that project M13 exists."
"But what does it all mean?"
"The document states that this is the first real attempt to listen to the Universe and the chances of making contact or hearing conversation are extremely high. Imagine if the world is told that out there, somewhere in the vastness of space, are other people similar to us but much more advanced. And there is proof, lying in a fridge in Washington. They know the answers to the Universe and they know that God doesn
’
t exist. The World isn
’
t ready for that my dear. But what
’
s more important right now is this document. Take a look at the cost details on page 34.
”
Susan turned to the page to scrutinize the figures Samuel had methodically listed out.
"My God!
”
"The President has denied the existence of this project to the High Church. With this information we can bring the government to it
’
s knees. Can you imagine the Headlines? 'President lies about secret space project to Church leaders.' If he
’
s prepared to lie to them, how can he be trusted to run the country?"
"So what do we do about it?"
"I want to go to print, I want to expose the lies and the cost to the taxpayer of this multi billion dollar telephone to the stars. I
’
d like to see them circumvent this little baby."
"Shit! This is dangerous stuff, Tom."
"Maybe, but this little lot is my fortune. The break I
’
ve been waiting for all my life. Go to page 186, paragraph 4.”
Susan flicked to the page and started reading… See looked up open-mouthed.
“That
’
s a copy, the originals are in my bank. If anything happens to me I have left instructions at the bank giving you sole access to the deposit box. Promise me you’ll go to print.” The thought of getting involved frightened Susan. Her mouth was dry and her nerves were on edge as she reached for her drink.
Every word was being recorded by the small digital recorder in Wayne
’
s jacket pocket...Hudson had just signed his own death sentence. Wayne would need to keep an eye on the woman, but for the moment he didn
’
t consider her to be a threat.
"Are you ready to eat now?"
"My stomach is turning over."
"I
’
m sorry but as assistant editor I value your opinion, Susan."
"I think we ought to think this thing through before we do anything," she replied with real concern on her face.
"I agree, so let
’
s eat," replied Hudson, with real enthusiasm in his voice and waving to the waiter
The morning sun felt warm on the mourner
’
s backs and it cast long distorted shadows that reached towards the open grave. The sound of gentle sobbing from Samuel Black
’
s family broke through the silence of the still morning. Vicki Stark
’
s eyes were tearful as the oak coffin was slowly lowered into the ground. McPherson was holding her hand and she felt him gently squeeze it in a way that offered her some comfort. A few feet in front of them Kim Black stood at the graveside alone, perfectly still, her head was lowered and her face showed no emotion. The autopsy results had revealed that Samuel had bled to death from the severe lacerations to his neck and wrist. No mention was made of his damaged tormented mind. It would be another week before Kim finally understood why Samuel had done such a terrible thing.
Soon, the body of his young victim would be laid to rest in the same cemetery and her child would grow up not remembering the love of his mother, the inextricable love which bonds two people of the same flesh together. The victims young son would never remember his visits with mum to the park, the hugs that meant I love you so, or the tears in his mother
’
s eyes as she drove him to school on his first day.
Stood in silence behind McPherson and Vicki were Yuri Klyushin, Jerzy Rozanski, Walter Rottenburg, Hunter and Raymond Strong Jnr. In the distance a powerful zoom lens focussed on each of the team in turn and a motorized SLR shutter clicked as their solemn images were digitally recorded.
The exterior of the old red brick warehouse overlooking Fisherman
’
s Wharf in San Francisco had remained much the same for over forty years, but inside, smoke from large, white altar candles drifted slowly upwards to fill the high-rafted ceiling of the long room. Beams of light from a circular window that faced the bay cut through the rising smoke to reach the white stone altar that stood on a raised stone platform on the far wall. The smell of incense filled the air and a feeling of peach and calmness resided. The flickering table candles revealed the twelve faces of the men known as the
‘
Children of Jesus.
’
Responsible for the deaths of fourteen
‘
sinners
’
in the last eight years, they were still, unknown. Now though, Christ had decreed that they were the
‘
New Disciples,
’
and had commanded them to cleanse the world of all evil and corruption, in preparation for the Second Coming.
At the head of a long slatted table sat the leader of the group, a very tall man with a rounded face, white receding hair and full white beard. He wore a white robe and around his neck hung a silver chain and crucifix that carried a silver cast of Christ nailed to the cross. The other members, also dressed in white robes, were seated around the table.
Slowly, the tall white figure of their leader arose from his seat. With outstretched hands he began the blessing of his followers, saying; "Children of Jesus, the Lord loves you and cares for you and bestows upon you the strength of the Holy Spirit, so that the word of the Lord may be passed on by you. He is the Light, he is the Way. Trust in the Lord, for one day he will be your salvation
…
Amen."
"Amen," replied the others, making the sign of the cross on their chests.
"Today," he paused before continuing,
“
Today is the first day of a new beginning for the Children of Jesus." The slow, deep voice of their leader was already beginning to intoxicate them. "The Lord has sent us a message, through our good friend Tom Hudson. The Lord wants us to stop an evil, an evil within this great country of ours called
‘
Project M13.
’
The misguided sinners are there for all to see." He gestured to the set of photographs in the middle of the table. "These people are evil and it is God
’
s will that we, the Children of Jesus eliminate them for they truly are sinners. God has given us the details of their misguided task; the fools are listening to the Universe because they think there are others out there that want to talk to us; want to tell us the truth about God and how he is a manifestation from the mind of man. Let them not forget; In the beginning God created the Heaven and the Earth. We were created in his own image. The Book of Genesis tells us these things
…
They say it is a time to listen; and they are right, it is a time to listen, but not to a dark void firmament. It is the time to listen to God
’
s word." His raised voice echoed in the cavernous expanse of the room.
"Amen," came the response from his followers, excited by his emotional sermon. Silently and without emotion, Richard Stark, stared down at the table and the photograph of his sister.
Vicki was enjoying the warm sun on her face but knew she could only allow herself thirty minutes, even with the high factor sunscreen, lovingly applied by McPherson. The fresh sea air of Galveston, facing the Gulf of Mexico, reminded her of Monterrey in California and the family visits to the beach. How her brother would tease her and run through the sand castles so carefully made by her and her sister Emma. Richard always took her dolls and threatened to throw them to the sharks that waited just below the water at the shoreline, eager to eat dolls offered to them by horrid boys.
"For God
’
s sake, Richard
…
leave her alone. You won
’
t stop until she cries will you." Vicki remembered her father
’
s voice shouting in despair as Richard ran off up the beach, only to plan another attack.
"Just ignore him Vicki dear," was her mother
’
s calm response.
"One day I
’
m going to kill him, Mummy. He
’
s such a horrid child, I hate him."
"Don
’
t say things like that, Vicki, it
’
s not nice. One day when you
’
re a lot older you
’
ll
realize that Richard has grown up and as your elder brother he will be there when you need him, to care for you and protect you, just like your father does now."
"Not if I kill him first."
"Stop that kind of talk young girl."
McPherson looked at Vicki as she lay next to him on the beach. Her eyes were closed and she looked peaceful.
"Are you asleep, darling?"
“Umm…no, I was day dreaming."
"Anything nice?"
“Monterrey."
"Why Monterrey?
”
"Oh
…
the beach, the sound and smell of the sea, the pelicans. It took me back to my visits to the beach when I was a child."
"Fond memories?"
"Oh yeah
…
I was lucky. I had a good childhood. Even now we are still a close family. You must meet them all soon. I want to show you off to them Rob.
”
Vicki smiled at McPherson and gently stroked his face. McPherson moved towards her and kissed her gently. Her lips felt soft and warm.
"I love you,Vicki.
”
"I love you too, Rob."
Tom Hudson drove his new 5 Series BMW convertible out of the underground garage and headed for Market, one of many streets in the city that ran down to the sea and to the Embarcadero, the road that followed the shoreline around to Fisherman
’
s Wharf. Waiting anxiously there for him was the leader of the
‘
Children of Jesus.
’
The evening was pleasantly warm and the Embarcadero was still busy with tourists. Driving past Pier 39, Hudson noticed Richard Stark's forty-seater passenger boat moored up, having completed the last of its ten trips to Alcatraz for the day. Alcatraz in Spanish means
‘
Pelican
’
and it was originally built as a prison in the Civil War to 1963 when it was eventually closed. The island fortress housed some of America
’
s most notorious criminals. During Alcatraz's history there were many recorded attempts at escape but no firm evidence that any succeeded. But, now it was a popular tourist attraction with hundreds of families taking the forty-minute boat trip around the island and back again; the trip that was Richard Stark
’
s living. Ten years on and he still owed money to the bank for the original loan to buy the boat because most of his earnings had gone to his church where he was a
‘
Disciple.
’
Hudson was excited about the money he was about to receive from the religious freaks at Fisherman
’
s Wharf. They were prepared to pay big money for the details about M13 that Samuel Black had given him in a desperate attempt to stop the blackmail. It was to have been the final payoff but Hudson
’
s greed was insatiable, and the threats continued, until Black could take no more.
How fortunate, thought Hudson, that Black had a desire for young girls; the younger the better, as he often boasted in the company of his closest friends all those years ago. Being able to screw Black
’
s beautiful wife was an added bonus that brought a smile to Hudson
’
s face as he drove along the seafront.
He still had vivid memories of the events the night the girl died. Samuel had laced her drinks with drugs so that he could fuck her. The desire for young girls was a driving force within Samuel Black and Hudson was the man to supply his needs. But, it went so horribly wrong that fatal night in Hudson
’
s room when her body reacted to the cocktail of aphrodisiacs. He remembered her staring eyes, as she lay naked and motionless on the floor. Her perfect teenage body, limp and lifeless and Black staring down at her in sheer panic.
Her body was never found and Hudson was now the only person who knew where her remains were. Her death had made him rich over the years and there was more to come.
Cold and calculating, he often frequented parties and got to know the dead girl
’
s parents. He was aware of the torment in their souls for their missing daughter; not knowing if she was alive or dead, but he didn
’
t care. Guilt and sympathy were not emotions Hudson understood.
He was now approaching the Church and parked up some fifty-yards away. Looking into the rear view mirror he ran his fingers through is dark hair and checked his bleached teeth. Walking the short distance to the large wooden doors he took in the fresh sea air and felt invigorated. Tonight he would be fifty-thousand dollars richer and all in dollar bills, a very good reason to party.
Outside the church Adam Domaradzki waited to greet Hudson.
"Good morning, Adam," Hudson said, smiling broadly.
"Great to see you, Tom," Domaradzki said, shaking hands with his visitor. "Please come in."
Inside Hudson was shown into a small office that consisted of a wooden desk and swivel chair and a single filing cabinet. The walls were plain white and a crucifix hung on the wall behind the desk.
Domaradzki stood in front of the desk and turned to face Hudson. "I believe you have something of great interest to our church?"
"Oh yes, of great interest, Adam, I can assure you of that."
Hudson pulled a brown envelope from under his coat and dropped it onto the desk. Domaradzki walked around to the desk and sat down. Slowly he opened the envelope and pulled out the contents. For a few minutes he sat in silence, eagerly reading the information Hudson had carefully prepared. Finally he looked up with a broad smile. "It's better than you described it over the phone. I have the money in hundred-dollar bills, as promised."
Within an hour Hudson had returned to his apartment. The notes strewn over the coffee table like loose playing cards. Hudson was sitting in his favourite chair and sipped a glass of expensive Cognac. A satisfied smile on his tanned face quickly changed to one of shock and fear as he saw the stranger in the room pointing a gun at his head.
"Who the fuck are y
…
?
”
Hudson never finished asking the question.
There was a hiss as the first bullet from Wayne's gun entered Hudson's right eye and exited the back of his head, taking most of his brains with it. Hudson slumped in the seat dead, as Officer Wayne fired another round into his forehead then quickly unscrewed the silencer from the gun, gathered his belongings and quietly left the building.
McPherson felt refreshed after the weekend break. Galveston was a good idea and the fresh sea air had brought back a healthy complexion to his face. He felt invigorated and his senses were sharp again. Looking across the control room he could see Raymond Strong Junior at the far end in deep discussion with Hunter. He thought about the time ten years before, when he and Raymond had worked together on a strange incident in Cleveland, Ohio. They were both young then, but still they had seen things that most people would find hard to believe. He remembered the farm and the long dusty dirt track that led up to the big ram shackled family home desperately in need of renovation after years of neglect.