Towards Light

  Towards Light © 2019 by Paul Watson. All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Paul Watson

  Visit my website at www.paulwatsonbooks.com

  towards light

  An Andy Teague Novella

  Paul Watson

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Reflux: An Andy Teague Thriller (1st in series)

  Author’s note

  Chapter 1

  Jim Crawley sat on the bench in the yard. Things felt unclear to him. He smiled and laughed as the other prisoners walked past slapping and punching him. The spice that Shebro had provided clouded his mind.

  Jim grinned like a Moron and swayed like a zombie as the prisoners took swings.

  Shebro approached Jim but turned and faced the other convicts who had congregated around the bench. ‘Come on, take a free shot. This numpty likes it.’ Shebro laughed with his whole seven-foot-tall body. His bulging muscular frame rippled with amusement. This was the most fun he’d had since he’d juiced another portion of spice the previous day. He reckoned he’d get about 5 minutes of fun before the guards took him to solitary. That was OK: Shebro could take the lows as long as he got a few highs and respect.

  Pigeons pecked at the gravel in the yard while a drone buzzed overhead and hovered near the wall. The guards in the yard investigated which meant that Jim Crawley was on his own. But not for long.

  A slim prisoner approached the bench. He was in better shape than the rest but not bulging with muscles like the mirror men. He dressed better than others. His garb appeared tailored to his wiry frame. The barber had cropped his hair well. He sat on the bench and put his hand around Jim Crawley’s shoulder. ‘How are you doing Buddy?’ he said.

  Jim gawped at his new neighbour. The prisoners dispersed leaving only Shebro and his lieutenants. The big man met the guy’s stare but looked away first. Shebro noticed his pulse race and the blood draining from his face. He focussed on the thin scar on the guy’s cheek under the eye patch. ‘What’s your name Pal?’ he said.

  ‘Roberts.’

  ‘You’re spoiling my fun. The guards aren’t coming so why don’t you take a hike and stay out of my business.’

  ‘I’m just sitting here. I’m not interested in your business but if you’d asked my opinion I would have said you might find other hobbies more rewarding.’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  ‘Since I’ve been here, I’ve enjoyed painting, but my real passion is cooking. Did you enjoy the curry last night?’

  ‘It was OK.’

  ‘That was my recipe, but Jim here has the makings of a great sous-chef and added his own twist. You’ve made my life difficult tonight by loading him with spice. I must change my plans and you might compromise my quality.’

  ‘No-one speaks to Shebro like that. Are you mental?’ Shebro launched forward and threw a punch at Roberts who caught the fist about one inch out from his good eye. If Shebro had stepped right first, he might have had more success. Roberts squeezed and crunched the big man’s knuckles. The bone on bone grind made Shebro’s gang wince. They had been around the prison a while and knew of the head chef’s reputation. The big man had transferred in two weeks ago and the gang members knew he would need to rein in his behaviour around Roberts.

  One of the crew put a hand on their leader’s shoulder. ‘Let’s go, you can deal with this later.’

  Shebro snarled at Roberts and drew his finger across his throat. ‘We’re not finished yet.’

  The gang meandered back into the block with the occasional backwards glance at the bench. Roberts and Jim were alone now in the courtyard. The prison guards had satisfied their curiosity with the drone, but they wouldn’t interrupt the two men on the bench; Roberts paid too well.

  ‘Jim. You’ll be out of here in a few months. You’ve got skill, I’ll call a friend in Paris and get you set-up in his restaurant. You work hard when you’re clean.’ Jim managed a Zombie grin. ‘I’ll get Naylor to take you to the medical room and watch you while you get yourself straight.’ Roberts nodded to a guard who came over and helped Jim to his feet. The pair entered the block and left Roberts on the bench.

  Roberts stared at the sky. High altitude cloud created white ripples through the blue. He would have preferred to watch the horizon, but this was as good as it got. The restricted view was the worst thing about Prison. Sometimes he’d get the guards to take him out at night, so he could look at the stars. He’d need to put his mind to escape soon, but he had a more immediate matter to attend to: dinner.

  Catering for a thousand prisoners was not challenging, so he’d looked to improve the basic fare on offer when he’d arrived a year ago. He had a series of mules that would smuggle in Nigella seeds, cardamom pods and saffron stems. He had failed to convince the prison service that the expense justified the result.

  The warden loved the fare and often had a takeaway brought to his office. He appreciated the improvement in behaviour since Roberts had arrived. Roberts enjoyed tranquillity, and he punished those who would disturb his environment. There had been a significant increase in prison deaths over the previous year, but they were all down to natural causes: heart conditions. The deceased were the troublesome prisoners who had tangled with Roberts in the days before their demise.

  Roberts left the courtyard and returned to his cell. The prison officers had furnished it with a TV and games console, but he didn’t use them. He lay on his bunk and read. The prison library provided all the entertainment he needed. He read non-fiction to widen his knowledge before he met Julia again. Roberts knew she didn’t care about his level of general knowledge, but it was important to him. He hated to feel inferior even to someone of Julia’s intellect.

  Roberts had read all the books he could find about the human brain, psychiatry and psychology and had moved to fiction. He had never seen the point before, but it sure helped to pass the time and make life more pleasant.

  Roberts dozed for a while and dreamt of Julia. He pictured her blonde hair and her sweet voice. Roberts hoped that she’d coped in prison. He assumed that she’d find it more difficult than he did, and he wanted to hold her close and tell her everything would be all right. And he knew it would because he had a plan. It would soon be time to execute it, but first he had more immediate work to do.

  Roberts woke and splashed water on his face. He dressed in his chef’s whites. He’d insisted on proper attire and the warden had obliged. Roberts liked the man and enjoyed their chats. Besides, the warden would assist Roberts with his escape for £2 million. Roberts took his mobile phone from under the mattress. The guards knew he had phones stashed in his room but didn’t search his cell. It was better to be cautious though, so Roberts hid the packet of digitalis in the empty battery compartment. Turning a blind eye to phones was one thing but the one-eyed man didn’t push his luck and leave poison in plain sight.

  He had harvested the raw materials for his poison while working in the prison yard the previous Spring. There had been an area near the perimeter fence carpeted with Foxgloves. The towering s
pires of purple and cream had cheered Roberts.

  He stripped the flowers from the stalks and hid the bulky petals in his pillow case until he had time to refine them. That is when he applied for kitchen duty. The kitchen was well stocked, and Roberts rigged a still to extract the active ingredients.

  Roberts pocketed the small pouch and walked down the gangway to his place of work. Some prisoners raised a hand to high five him as he walked. He left most of them hanging but clasped hands with Danny and gave him a hug. Danny, like Jim, was an addict but time cooking with Roberts had helped the young man. The protection that Roberts offered was useful too and Danny was no longer forced to swallow packets at visits from his girlfriend. He could spend the time chatting with her instead. Danny also wore chef’s whites, and the pair entered their domain.

  Tonight, would be a difficult shift without Jim to help them. Roberts was trying a new dish: creamy Chicken Mahkani with a buttered Naan.

  Danny handled the sauce and Roberts kneaded the Naan dough. They checked the ingredients and got to work mixing and weighing the cayenne pepper, garam masala and yogurt. Two hours to service. Roberts would have liked to marinate the chicken for longer.

  One naan was special. Roberts added his secret ingredient: a dash of digitalis. More than a dash because Shebro was a big man. There was no point in just making the guy anxious.

  Roberts kept the naans warmed in heated trays and left the special one on the bottom. He watched the dinner service. The prisoners queued and collected their portion of curry from Danny. Towards the end of service, he saw the big man with his crew emerge around the corner. They were jostling to the front and pushed in ahead of a small guy with ginger hair.

  ‘Double portion please,’ Shebro said.

  Danny obliged.

  ‘And two of those bread things.’

  Roberts walked up to the counter. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Sorry about earlier. A big guy like you deserves a double portion.’

  Shebro huffed and sat a table with his crew. And then he stood and walked over to get water without touching the food.

  A prison officer approached the counter. ‘Can I take a portion for the warden please Danny?’

  ‘Here you go.’ Danny handed over a plate filled with the steaming curry. ‘Sorry we’ve got no naan breads left.’

  ‘No problem Danny, the warden could do with losing a few pounds.’

  The prison officer walked towards the exit with his tray when he spotted Shebro’s plate loaded with tasty puffed slabs of bread. The officer picked one off the top and put it on the warden’s plate. He glared at Shebro’s gang as he walked off. He was one of the more effective officers and the convicts knew better than to force the issue.

  The warden had a glass of beer with his final meal. A guard found him dead two hours later.

  Roberts got the news the next day and felt first guilt and then annoyance. Then he worked on Plan B for his escape.

  Chapter 2

  Andy sat at his desk and stared. The coffee was cold now. He clicked his mouse and reviewed the information on the website for the tenth time. The new DNA relative shared fifty percent of his DNA which meant that the mystery man must be his father, brother or son.

  His father had died six years ago. An only child, Andy’s parents had divorced when he was a baby. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that his Dad had fathered an unknown son.

  Jess arrived home from work and entered Andy’s office. ‘I see you’ve got your results back from the DNA test. Are you superhuman like you thought?’

  ‘I have no alcohol flush gene, but I am prone to excessive earwax.’

  ‘That was £200 well spent. I could have told you that. What’s that DNA relative thing you’re looking at?’

  ‘The software matches everyone in the system’s database by percentage of shared DNA. It gives a comparison to each user, and that is why you find me staring at the screen. I might have a brother.’

  ‘I always thought it likely you had a half sibling out there, after meeting your father for the only time.’

  ‘Me too. That was part of the reason I took the tests, also to impress you with my elite power athlete style DNA.’

  Andy clicked onto another page to show Jess his impressive genes. She walked away though and loaded Jeans into the washing machine. He heard her shuffling around in the laundry room next to his office.

  The DNA relative page gave no information on his potential sibling’s age or physical location. The only information was the initials MC. Andy typed into the message box: ‘Hi, I’m Andy. We’re brothers.’ He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  A sip of the coffee prompted Andy to pick up the mug, walk through to the kitchen and pour the cooled concoction down the sink. As the brown liquid drained, Andy stared into the garden and studied the weeds sprouting in the lawn.

  It was late February and warmth was returning. The winter had been mild, and Andy hoped for a summer as hot as the one two years ago but not as eventful. He would occupy himself in the garden for the next few weekends, pruning the Wisteria, scarifying the lawn and pulling the weeds from cracks in his patio slabs. During the summer he would sit out late with Jess and chat over a beer or chilled wine. Max would be back from university then. Andy had missed him since he’d gone away but after the events of that hot summer, it satisfied Andy that the family were all alive and well.

  When Andy returned to his desk, he noticed a new message had arrived from MC: ‘Hi Andy. That’s improbable but would you like to meet?’

  Andy replied: ‘OK.’

  A few seconds later MC sent instructions: ‘1586 Windsor Road, Gough. Come anytime.’

  Andy had never heard of Gough, but he looked it up and found it a few miles East of London. It was industrial with a smattering of houses on the outskirts. The address on Windsor road didn’t appear on the map.

  ‘Jess, I’m going out for a while. I’ll be back for seven before you go out.’ Andy showed Jess the message from MC and despite her protests, he grabbed his wallet, keys and coat and headed out the driveway. She gave up the objection, picked up her magazine and flopped on the sofa.

  An hour later he pulled off the M25 and followed the signs for Gough. The town had a few cafes scattered around the industrial units that sprang from tarmac. Andy entered Windsor road and drove to the end. The numbers ran out at 519. After two laps of the road he stopped at a coffee shop to ask for directions.

  The woman behind the counter took his order and told Andy that she didn’t know 1586. She knew a building a few miles down the road out-of-town that might be worth checking out. He finished his coffee, eager to get back to his search.

  The stretch of road from the coffee shop was barren and Andy knew he’d spotted 1586 Windsor Road when he was half a mile away. He considered turning back when he saw it. The same giant box amongst fields he’d seen that summer in rural Lincolnshire. This building was smaller and the cladding a different hue, but Andy suspected who’d built it.

  The sign in the parking area removed any doubt. There was no trace of workmen, but words glared from the hoarding: ‘Ranto Construction’.

  Andy approached the reception area and waved to the woman behind the desk through the glass facade. She buzzed opened the door, and he strolled over to her. She had brown curly hair and big gold earrings.

  ‘Welcome to 1586. How can I help you?’

  ‘I’m looking for MC? Is he around?’

  ‘I’ll just check our records. Did you arrange a meeting?’

  ‘Yes. He said to come anytime.’

  ‘We’ve no-one called MC working here or anyone with those initials. Sorry about that.’ The woman stared at the exit and Andy took the hint. The CCTV camera fixed to the wall tracked Andy as he exited the foyer.

  Andy clicked his key, but his car door remained closed. He noticed a noise behind him. It was a pneumatic hiss that reminded him of deflating an airbed after a camping trip. He turned and noticed a door had opened in the wall behind the
reception. Andy pressed his key again; the door on the wall closed. This puzzling event intrigued Andy. He resolved to enter the building if the door opened on his next press of the button.

  He pushed down and said, ‘Open Sesame.’

  The pneumatic entrance obliged.

  Tactile paving guided the way from the parking area and Andy strode over it to the opening. He entered darkness and turned back. As he did so the outer door closed and would no longer respond to his key press.

  Andy leaned on a wall and waited. He clicked his key a few more times but nothing happened. He listened and detected the breeze ruffling the leafless trees outside but nothing from inside. The room he was in smelled of new paint. He touched the wall and ran his hand along it. His fingers brushed against embossed steel plate. Whoever had commissioned this building had expected a lot of traffic through this area. Was it a corridor?

  Keeping his hand against the wall, Andy moved forward by sliding his feet along: he didn’t want to trip.

  Andy’s caution proved wise. He bumped into something in front of him. It felt like a plastic barrier. He pictured it as yellow, but it may as well have been invisible. Andy crouched and slid his hand along the floor and over a lip. Someone had removed a few of the floor panels but at least had had the sense to put up warning barriers. Andy crept the full width of the corridor and realised that the entire floor in front of him was missing. He could turn back, phone reception and tell the curly haired lady he’d got lost on the way out, but the lights came on.

  Ahead of Andy the tunnel ran for another fifty metres and had closed doors at intervals along the walls. He could jump across the gaps and continue but he thought for a moment and studied his surroundings. The hole in front of him contained cables and ducts as he’d expected some for data and some for electricity. Next to the hole was a door. Were the lights a signal?

  A signal from who? Andy pondered the possibilities and reflected on his previous experience at the PKL building.