- a free online novel Rob Hopcott

Chapter 07

Mike looked startled.

"You mean it's somehow sifting through everything that is being said within hearing range of those two phones, looking for words that are of interest and recording conversations?"

"That's exactly what I think it's doing," said Carolyn.

"Phew, that's incredible," he said. "But it does make sense of all this palaver we have had to go through to plant the web phones with them."

"I think that's what makes their plan so incredibly efficient," said Carolyn, "people take personal phones with and everywhere. It's the ideal bugging device and the information is instantly transmitted over the Internet. I bet that whoever is behind all this has even got a bulk arrangement to keep the telephone charges low. And using suckers like us, they don't have to get directly involved. If anything goes wrong, we carry the can. We don't know who were working for and even if we did we probably couldn't prove it."

"And the consequences of not cooperating have been made clear with the attacks on Bill and my wife," said Mike.

Carolyn sighed in resignation. "The trouble is that I really see no way out of delivering the phones personally. The people we are dealing with can easily afford any mobile phones that they want. The only reason they are likely to keep ours with them is because of their relationship with us."

"We'll just have to bide our time, go along with it and hope for the best," said Mike, philosophically. "Not much of a strategy ... but all we've got."

Carolyn continued. "The notes that came with the computer also said that we should use the new computer for all future communications. I wondered if it would be worth sending them the second short list so that they can choose the next targets to receive the web phones. I'd got their details on this floppy disc from my other computer."

Mike experimentally looked at the main menus.

"I don't see that there is any software on this machine to do anything," he said.

"It obviously has some voice recognition ability," said Carolyn.

"Shall I try talking to it," said Mike, uncomfortably. "What you think I should say that might get it started."

Suddenly, there was a louder 'ping' and the screen dissolved into picture of a smartly dressed man standing in front of a white board.

"Hi," he said, cheerfully. "If you have something to say, just talk to me - I'm not an idiot you know! He added cheerfully.

Mike cleared his throat, nervously.

"We didn't realise you were listening," he said.

"Its the thing I do best," said the man. "I understand you have a list of prospective candidates. If you pop it into the 3 1/2 in. drive, I will check it out."

Carolyn reached into her desk, pulled out a disc and passed it to Mike who slotted it into the drive. It whirred for a minute, the picture of the white board on the screen got larger, revealing a name that the computer had selected from the list.

It was male.

"That rather leaves me out," said Mike.

"Not really," mused Carolyn, "he doesn't like females."

Mike looked back at her, tight lipped. "You are not seriously suggesting..."

"And what other ideas do you have," said Carolyn.

"Would you consider choosing another target for me," said Mike, directly to the computer.

"There is no alternative," replied the man in the computer. "Look on the bright side, you're getting well paid for this."

"There are some things in life where money doesn't matter," said Mike.

He turned to Carolyn. "What are the payment arrangements that have been agreed?"

"We get 5,000 for each web phone that we deliver and a bonus if we do it successfully. What is meant by successfully was not clearly defined in the instructions but I think it also involves worthwhile information coming from their use of the phone as well as the simple delivery."

"And if only delivery was that simple," said Mike, glumly.

Carolyn nodded her agreement.

"What exactly is meant by 'success', Mr Computer," said Mike, trying another tack. But the computer ignored him.

"I have made arrangements for 10,000 to be brought around you for this afternoon. That should give you some incentive," the man in the computer said, firmly.

"I think it's time for a cup of tea," commented Carolyn, nodding her head in the direction of the kitchen.

Mike, still gloomy, nodded his agreement.

"I don't like the idea of everything we say being listened to by that machine," said Carolyn. She was seated at a high stool at the breakfast bar. The kitchen was like Carolyn, functional, efficient but also soft and welcoming. The stools were hard pine but were cushioned in willow green patterns to match the wallpaper.

"I just hope we didn't say anything earlier that will cause a problem," said Mike.

"I think if we had said anything, we would have heard about it by now, and the fact that he is sending some money around seems to indicate that he is reasonably happy with us she," said Carolyn.

"And rather a lot of money at that," said Mike. "If I had known there was so much money in the dating game, I would have thought twice about a career in writing."

"Believe me," said Carolyn, tartly, "this is nothing to do with running a dating agency. This is to do with the exploitation of my clients and contacts list. My dating business work is accumulating day by day. If I am to spend significant amounts of time delivering these web phones I will need to get some help with my regular business."

"Have you got a small side room that we could put their computer in so it won't be listening to us all the time," said Mike.

"I have," said Carolyn, "but it may not be too happy about being moved."

They took their tea back into the office and Carolyn was proved right. When she explained to the computer that it was going to be moved into the next-door room, its answer was immediate:

"Move me into the next room and the money doesn't arrive this afternoon, that final. By the way, remember your nosy friend is at your local District General Hospital. You might go and see him. It could just be a little reminder for you to behave."

The computer stayed where it was and Mike, white faced, went off to see Bill.

The hospital was half an hour's drive away and during the journey Mike tried to decide what he would say to Bill. Although he had originally taken the problem to him, Mike felt matters had moved on since then. Any further involvement of Bill, since he was not part of the current deal, could only cause problems. He decided, therefore, to keep quiet about developments since the accident.

Bill was in a room by himself. Attached to him were all manner of tubes and wires and he didn't look well. Seeing Mike, however, seem to cheer him up.

"I thought you'd never come and see me," he said, weakly.

"I only heard today," said Mike, "Sorry."

"Well you're here now, so bring me up to date with the latest events," said Bill, enthusiastically.

"There's nothing much to say," said Mike, cagily. "I'm getting on with my writing. My wife's not speaking to me. Got into a huff about something and went to off to stay at her mother's at the other side of town for a while."

"She's a good woman," said Billy, his eyes looked concerned. "You should look after her."

"When your best friend start saying things like that to," said Mike, jokingly, "the men's magazines say it's time to get concerned. She hasn't been paying you any tender visits has she?"

"Now why should she do that?" Said Bill.

The fact that he hadn't actually answered the question was not lost on Mike but he decided not to pursue the matter.

"What about your virus," enquired Billy, "have you made any progress with that?"

"I couldn't believe how simple it was," Mike lied. "I purchased a virus killing program from the local computer shop and Ive not heard from it since. It seems to have zapped it quite satisfactorily!"

"Well would you have believed it," said Billy, sounding as if he didn't. He struggled upon his pillows, painfully.

"Tell me about your accident," said Mike.

"As conspiracy theories go, this would be a good one. One minute we are pursuing investigations and the next I was being run down by a hit-and-run driver. The two things looked pretty closely linked."

"Probably just some joy riders," said Mike, unconvincingly. "They come in off the housing estates next to the motorway. They like the uncluttered roads around here."

Bill looked at him doubtfully.

"It's the first time I've heard of joy riders stealing an old green van for their excitement," he said. "They usually go for something posher and with more go."

"Perhaps they were just beginners," said Mike.

"They might be," Bill said, "but they were determined to finish me off. Otherwise why would they have come back for a second and a third try? If I hadn't crawled under a nearby car to get out of their way and screamed my head to attract attention, Im sure they would have been successful. And the big thing that stands out most in my mind is that the van didn't brake at all. I was minding my own business on a zebra crossing and it just kept going, in fact I think it accelerated."

"Did you see who was in it," said Mike.

"No chance," said Bill, sadly. "Who looks at people in green vans? And when you're painfully crawling under someone else's car to avoid being killed, the driver in the vehicle attacking you is not exactly in the line of vision."

"What do the police think, said Mike.

"They think they found the van. It was burnt out on some disused waste ground 20 minutes' drive from here. Of course there was no chance of any fingerprints or forensic evidence because of the fire."

"But joy riders usually end up by torching the vehicle," said Mike. "Perhaps that would point rather more towards that motive."

"Attempted murderer would give even more reason to get rid of any evidence."

"Anyway," said Mike, "If the police haven't got any leads, then theres very little we can do about it. I'm not going to take a story to them about a virus in my computer that's trying to take over the world. Remember, even you doubted my sanity, when I told you about it."

"Well perhaps you're right," said Bill, "perhaps I should concentrate on getting out of here."

"Which reminds me," said Mike. "I've got to get in some shopping to cook myself an evening meal, so I'll have to be off soon."

They chatted for a few minutes, Mike thought quite awkwardly.

Then Mike left and Bill fell into a troubled sleep. Troubled because he didn't believe a word of what Mike had said. Also it had occurred to him that, if somebody wanted him dead badly enough to run him down in a public street, they were unlikely to give up just because he was in hospital.

Rod leaned back to let his breathing and pulse rate return to normal. Jasmine pushed her long hair back off her face, climbed off him and padded off in the direction of the bathroom. The bedroom they had chosen for theirs was at the front of the house and looking up the river. It caught the sun beautifully in the morning. It was eleven o'clock already and the sun was streaming through the windows warming Rod's pale body as he sprawled on the bed. He idly picked his nose and then a large spot on his chin that was troubling him. Despite the warmth of the sun, the room still smelled faintly of damp. Outside, he could hear the sound of the river and a slap of waves against the riverbank as the occasional pleasure boat went by.

He was feeling quite pleased with himself. Things were going well in Rod's world. The kidnap, his first kidnap, had gone flawlessly. He savoured the word, kidnap, it sounded good. It made him feel important to know that he had pulled it off. It would be the first of many he hoped. And they would all be successful - and as remunerative.

The hit-and-run had not worked out quite so well. He pictured it in his mind. The middle-aged man on the zebra crossing - an easy mark. What had he done wrong? Was it because he had revved the engine too soon ... this seemed the most likely reason for the man getting away. Next time, he would increase speed and acceleration more gradually and without any noise that could give warning.

If he had hit the target, as he wanted, the man would have been flipped over the bonnet and the roof of the car to land behind in a great position to do a quick reverse that would have finished the job off. He'd still been given some money for the job but not as much as he had been promised. Nevertheless, the kidnap job had brought in enough to purchase the bright red sports car that stood on the riverbank opposite gleaming in the sun. It didn't leave him very much for day-to-day living but the sports car had always been a dream and Rod believed in reaching out and grabbing dreams. There would be more work soon. He was sure. Perhaps after a suitable delay, the school computer resplendent in the corner of the bedroom, or rather the people that were using it as a go between would instruct him to return and finish the job off. In the meantime he still had the small cache of drugs he had liberated from Beaver that could bring in a bit of action and a few readies.

He put his arms comfortably behind his head. The young girls at the arcade were so different to Jasmine. They were eager. They treated him like a god, always willing and hanging on his every word. Jasmine was so casual about their relationship. He was there, he'd got a bit of money and a pad and she was there, happy to be alive and share it with him.

She gave herself to him but also demanded he do the same for her. To her, their relationship was one of equals - Rod preferred willing slaves where he was centre of their universe. People who were kidnapped were slaves. He thought of the smart woman he'd forced off the road and of the garage where he had left her bound and gagged. He could have had a lot of fun. But the painful memory of what happened last time he was 'unprofessional' had kept him on the straight and narrow. In his mind's eye, as he day dreamed in the sun, his imagination explored what he could have done with mounting excitement.

Jasmine broke into his reverie, padding into the bedroom wrapped in a large white bathroom, all roundness and warmth.

"Are you going to lay there all day," she said.

"I could lay you all day here," said Rod, lazily.

"We're getting low on food and I could do with some cigarettes. How do you fancy a trip out to do some shopping," said Jasmine, testily.

Rod reached into his trouser pocket that was hanging on the chair beside the bed. Pulled out a couple of 10 notes, screwed them into a bundle and threw them in her direction.

"You go," he said. "Plus get some washing up liquid as well, there's a pile of dishes in the kitchen that need sorting out. You could get a cookery book also. I'm fed up of egg and chips."

Jasmine pulled on her jeans sharply; there was a tearing sound as one of the many holes became larger. Her mouth was set in a hard line.

"And what will you be doing, while I am making out like a dutiful housewife," she complained. "I'd like to know what you get up to when you go off for hours on end? You never ask me to go with you. I saw Beaver the other day and he asked me why we weren't together. I told him we were still together but had to admit that you never spend any time with me except in bed. It was embarrassing. It looked as if you are using me."

"You are as keen on the bed bit as much as I am," said Rod, aggressively.

"There's more to relationships than screwing." Bright red points now appeared on her flushed cheeks. "At least Beaver knows that."

Jasmine pulled a Kaftan shirt over her head and shook her long fair to avoid having to brush it.

"Go anywhere near that loser again and you'll get a slapping," roared Rod angrily.

He leaped out of bed in an attempt to grab her and give her a demonstration of what he meant but she was too fast and was away off out of the house and into the rowing boat before he could get dressed and grab her. Rod swore. He would have to hitch a ride from a passing boat if he was going to get off the island before Jasmine came back now.

"Bitch," he shouted, although mildly at the retreating boat.

Jasmine paused, halfway across the river, and showed him her little finger.

"Up yours," she said.

Rod didn't really mind, the argument had got him what he wanted which was a day in town and alone. Dimly he wondered whether the argument had also got Jasmine what she wanted and whether Beaver figured in her plans for the day. But that was a problem for another time and with his head full of pleasant thoughts of the arcade girls, he made for the shower.

Jasmine had indeed got plans for the day but not any that Rod could have imagined. The day before, with not very much to do except tidy a bungalow that looked more like a squat every day, Jasmine had logged onto the Internet.

"I am glad to get an opportunity of talking to you," said the longhaired hippy that appeared in the top right-hand corner and casually walked down a cartoon staircase into the centre of the screen. "

Jasmine pulled on the phone and microphone headset that had been discarded to the side of the computer.

"Who are you," she queried.

"You could say that I am a friend of Rod's," the young man said conversationally. "Or you could say that I am the one that tells him what to do."

"I hope you have better luck than I do," Jasmine had replied.

"Rod's got his uses, but I was wondering if you would like to earn a bit of money on your own account. It can't be much fun relying on Rod all the time. Would you like to have a little bit of financial independence?"

"How much financial independence and how do I earn it," said Jasmine suspiciously?

"Youve seen how much money Rod has. You know I pay well."

"Yeh, but what sort of work is it?"

"All you have to do is to take the train to Fulham where you will meet somebody who will give you some money for yourself, several book size parcels and an address where you must take the parcels. It is vitally important that you carry the work out exactly as instructed. Your boyfriend discovered how important this is!"

Jasmine nodded silently. She had seen the marks on Rod's body.

"I'm not so sure," said Jasmine. "If that's how you treat the people that do work for you, I'm not sure I'm interested."

"For making this delivery, I am prepared to pay you 500, "the hippy smiled engagingly. "And there would be more easy work for you to do after that which could be paid even better."

"So where you want me to collect these parcels," queried Jasmine, giving in.

The address had appeared on a line at the bottom of the screen and she had copied it down onto the back of an envelope.

This envelope was now in the back pocket of her jeans.

The journey to Fulham had been difficult needing two trains, one of which was cancelled. The house was also equally difficult to find for Jasmine. Hers was not an organised mind and she preferred to ask people rather than use a map. Eventually, however, a large door was opened and she was ushered into the house by a young woman with dark hair. The house had a wealthy feel to it with a deep pile carpet but little furniture. The parcels and money were counted and handed over in front of a video camera to record the transaction. Jasmine only looked briefly at the grisly pictures she was shown."

"I am not entirely new to this," she said. "And I learn quickly!"

"It is all the better for you, if that is the case," the petite woman said, in a highly resolute voice. "In his second bag, there is a Post Office uniform. Before you make the delivery, change into the uniform at the railway station. Change back out of the uniform at the railway station when you have finished and then call this number to confirm the job has been done. Do not under any circumstance call this number if you are unable to complete the job as instructed. If there is a problem, and there shouldn't be, call this other member."

She showed how to find the pre-recorded numbers in the memory of the mobile telephone.

The journey to the outer fringes of London was easier because Jasmine had been given exact instructions. Unusually for Jasmine, she followed them to the letter.

The address was an office building in a wealthy residential area. By the time Jasmine got there, it was after 6.00 pm. and none of the offices appeared occupied. Jasmine found her hands shaking as she pushed the parcels through the commercial size letterbox and it was only when she was back at the station and changed out of the uniform that her heart had slowed down to its normal speed. It almost immediately returned to its previous rapid rate when she made the telephone call and in the distance heard the explosion. It started as a small rumble that quickly swelled. It was a long and deep boom rather than a crack. The ladies' toilets briefly shook and when Jasmine got outside with her parcel firmly tucked under her arm, it seemed that everybody in the station was looking in the direction of the explosion. With her mind racing, Jasmine also looked in the direction of the explosion.

"Stay calm," she told herself. "Act exactly like the others."

There was a young mother, pushing a buggy, and Jasmine focussed on her from the corner of her eye. She didn't look very concerned and Jasmine adopted the same facial expression. After a few minutes, she went back to reading a magazine. Jasmine walked slowly to the newspaper stand, slipped in the appropriate coins, and as casually as she could, forced herself to read the newspaper. Once she was safely on the train, she tried not to think of what she had just unwittingly done. It was a dangerous self-indulgence that could tear her apart.

Instead she set her mind to planning where she could hide the money. Top of her list of questions was whom could she trust? She knew that she could not trust Rod and she wasn't at all sure whether she trusted Beaver. It was her decision about the best place to hide the money rather than desire or affection that took her back to the bungalow and Rod.

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Unwelcome Paradise by Rob Hopcott is copyright   2001, All rights are reserved. All characters are fictitious in this story and no reference is intended to any person living or otherwise.

I hope you enjoy 'Unwelcome Paradise'.      Rob

- a free online novel Rob Hopcott