The Fine Line of Revenge

T
HE

F
INE
L
INE

OF
R
EVENGE

BY

M
ARTIN
C
OX

For Zoë. With love.

Thank You.

CHAPTER 1

 
The moment had arrived.  The moment when all the meticulous planning of the past days, would finally come to an end.  A calm and steady hand gripped the rifle, effortlessly, the index finger poised at the trigger.  The dark figure took in a breath and slowly exhaled. The trigger was gently squeezed, the target conveniently cooperating, as he stood motionless in the distance. The bullet entered precisely where it was intended.  Blood trickled slowly from the 7.62mm wound, down the long nose and across the already pale cheek of the target, as he lay slumped against the cold, steel railings on this miserable winter’s night.  Thunderous, hammering rain was silenced as screams echoed through the narrow streets and high above the roofs of the surrounding tall buildings.   The assassin, a tall, dark haired man, dismantled his rifle, glancing across at the ever-increasing crowd, able to hear every deafening scream of the deceased traitor’s wife.  People flocked from all directions, cars stopped in the street, blocking traffic, to gaze at the well-known official. The rifle, a specially constructed, Black, L96A1, (a weapon he had most desire for), was packed slowly and neatly away in its blue, felt lined case and was closed securely.  It swung below his knee as he languidly made his way out of the uninhabited flat.  Another assignment had ended and as Jack Harvey made his way to his escape route, his thoughts of the job ended there.

As Jack drove his Range Rover into the drive of his Epsom home, his headlights picked up on a figure lurking in the shadows of his darkened porch.  As the vehicle got closer, Jack could clearly see that it was Alex Jarman, a close friend and colleague, sheltering from the calming rain.  Jack pulled on the hand brake and turned off the engine. Grabbing his metal case, he got out of the Range Rover, knocking the black paintwork as he rushed to shut the door.

‘Great!’ he exclaimed, as he checked for scratches.  Alex approached him through the barrier of rainwater that ran evenly off the sloped, porch roof.  Alex was a well-built man of thirty-two, the same age as Jack. They had been friends ever since college and had stayed together through their years in the S.A.S.  He was now working in the same division as Jack, training new recruits for special operations missions, preparing them for the most hostile and dangerous environments.

‘No time for that now, Jack, you’re going to be late for your own stag night,’ his shouts competing with the rain, as it turned into an unexpected down pour.

   ‘Let’s get inside,’ Jack answered, as he fished out his keys from the deep pockets of his blue, suit trousers.  Stepping into the large hallway both men welcomed the warmth of the five-bedroom house.

‘You really must fix your guttering Jack. You’ll have a swamp in your front garden before long.’ Alex removed his sodden jacket and hung it on one of the large oak hooks situated under a gallant oil painting of a lady on horseback.

‘I know, but it just won’t stop raining,’ Jack said, taking off his shoes, placing them neatly away in a small cupboard in the hallway.  He made his way up the vast wooden staircase. ‘Get yourself a drink,’ his voice vanishing onto the landing.

‘Don’t be long,’ shouted Alex, as he made his way into the lounge. He moved his body, taking great pleasure from the warmth of the room.  He made his way over to the small, mahogany topped bar in the corner and poured himself a generous glass of Glenfiddich.  He dropped in two ice cubes, splashing whisky onto the counter.  Leaving the spillage, he slowly moved across the spacious room, swirling the ice to cool his drink, stopping at the silver, full-length mirror.  Admiring his short, blonde flat top, he swallowed a large mouthful of his beverage and crunched on an ice cube.  Jack swiftly made his way down the stairs and appeared in the lounge, wearing a grey Armani suit, not a crease in sight, beaming from ear to ear.  Alex took a moment.

‘Sarah’s a lucky lady.’

‘Let’s hope I don’t throw up on it!’ Jack replied.  Alex wandered over to the window.

‘Don’t worry Jack. I won’t let you get up to anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’  Pulling back the curtains revealed the presence of a dark taxi, the car’s interior light illuminating the driver as he rummaged around in his glove box.

‘Shall we go?’ Alex suggested.

‘I’ll just get a coat, got to keep the suit dry!’  He opened a door in the hallway revealing a large cupboard and took out a long, thick, grey coat.   Easing it on to his person, he fastened the four large buttons and took a moment to adapt to its weight.  He shut the cupboard and made his way to the door.  As he opened it, Alex walked past him in the other direction.

‘Where are you going?’ Alex remained silent and opened up the cupboard, taking out another of Jack’s coats. He smiled at his friend, winking his right eye, threw on the black item and closed the door.

‘All set?’ Jack said, not a trace of resentment in his voice.

The Scarlet Club was a very exclusive establishment, not too far from Epsom itself, the bars, bursting at their seams, as they did most Friday nights.  The patrons mainly consisted of government workers and officials and a few other selected members.  As the two men entered the main bar, the music was almost visible as it thundered out of the numerous speakers around the room.  The dance floor was littered with men and women, living the evening to the full. The music and lights crept into every dark and distant corner.  They squeezed their way towards the infested bar, turning sideways to make the journey slightly easier.  As they approached the bar, they were pulled out of the solid crowd. Waiting the other side were five other men, numerous glasses of beer scattered around the table where they were sitting.  A chorus of cheers rang out high above the overwhelming noise of the club as Jack reached the already drunk group of friends.

‘We thought you would never get here,’ slurred one man, holding aloft a full pint, spilling most of it on the table and his lap below.

‘The doorman wouldn’t let us in, so we had to kill him and dispose of the body,’ Alex said, rubbing his hands on his trousers as if cleaning them.  The men returned with a short burst of laughter, held up their pints and welcomed the latecomers to the celebrations.  As Jack sat down on his red, cushioned chair, Pete stood up.

     ‘Now that you’re here,’ he stated, standing on his chair raising himself with the aid of the table, ‘we have a friend who wants to say hello.’ He turned to the source of the music, waving his hands frantically. As Kylie faded out, a familiar piece of music blasted from all speakers and as the crowd parted, Jack knew exactly what was going on.  In her heels, the Busty brunet stood at almost six feet, her nurse’s uniform already beginning to peel away from her perfect figure.  Jack stood wide-eyed, as the exotic dancer rubbed against his legs peeling away the upper layer of her clothing.

‘I’ll get you lot for this!’

‘Sit back and enjoy yourself, you may never have the chance again,’ replied Alex, smacking the nurse’s back side and laughing, receiving a threatening look from her bodyguard.

It was the morning, when Jack was woken, primarily due to Alex’s foot repeatedly banging against his elbow.  Alex was up and dressed and serving cups of black coffee to the numerous people who lay half asleep on the large, white lounge rug.

‘It’s ten o’clock your groomness,’ Alex whispered, handing his friend a china mug containing, what he thought was, steaming, hot mud.  The church service wasn’t until two o’clock and Alex was hoping it would be enough time to bring him back to the land of the living.  Jack gazed at the steaming syrup almost heaving at the sight.

‘Drink up, it’s good for you.’  He took a sip of the brew, screwing up his face as if in pain and slowly placed his cup on the coffee table, knocking into a full ashtray, sending ash onto its surface.

‘Why are we all on the floor?’ Jack asked.

‘You felt it best to contain the merriment to one room.  A wise decision.  Your spare double bed is very comfortable though,’ Alex replied, stretching his arms up.

‘Where’s your hangover?’

‘I never get hangovers Jack, you know that,’ Alex’s supreme grin covered his face and he headed off into the kitchen.  The other five men began to rise from the floor, like a scene in an old zombie movie. Pete was the first to speak, his voice a little husky.

‘Well, great night, Jack, but I think we should all go and get ready, we don’t want to be late, so we’ll see you later, O.K?’  Jack raised his hand and groaned in agreement as the party collected their belongings and made for the door.  The door shut with a bang and Jack held his head, attempting to channel the throbbing pain elsewhere.  He wandered into the kitchen, rotating his neck around and around as if starting an exercise class. He was stopped by the smell of burnt bacon.  Alex turned his head, spatula in hand, tears in his blood shot eyes as smoke lifted from the frying pan on the electric hob in front of him.

‘Breakfast, my friend. The only way to start the day of your wedding. Sorry about the smoke, I’m used to gas.’  Jack looked at the pieces of charcoal in the now flame engulfed pan.

‘I’ll wait for the wedding breakfast. I’m going to take a shower,’ he turned and left Alex to tackle the blaze, his stomach performing tricks that even a trained dolphin would be proud of.

After a shower and a complete overhaul, he centre parted his damp hair, studied it and then decided to comb it forward instead. Spraying deodorant under each arm it sent a cold, yet relaxing, sensation down his spine.  He sat on his bed, a small black suitcase open next to him.  He walked over to the chest of drawers and opened the top draw, searching for his favourite socks and a few odd items that would see him through a night away from home and a wedding night that his bride would never forget.  The night would be spent in the Belgravia suite of the Dorchester Hotel in London. Jack had a warm attraction to this room after staying there as a child.  They would then leave the next day for two weeks in sunny Mauritius.

Excitement turned to nerves as he stood alongside his best man, both men fiddling with their bow ties. Jack finally finished the agonising knot.

‘I’ve never been so nervous in my entire life. I didn’t think it was possible for me to get nervous anymore. Not like this!’

‘Anything’s possible. You’ll be fine, stop worrying. Just think, in four hours you’ll be drinking your first brandy as a married man.’

‘Do you think I’ll like it?’

‘What, the brandy?’ replied Alex.  Jack turned to him, not amused by his sarcasm.

‘No. Marriage.  Do you think it will work for me?’

‘How the hell should I know? I’ve never been married.  Christ, I can’t even keep a girlfriend for more than a month, but if you continue as you are now, it’s a relationship that can never end,’ Alex replied, disgusted with himself by what he had just said. Jack turned back, looking deep into the tall, floor length mirror, staring at himself, a cold sweat beginning to appear on his brow.

‘You’ll be fine,’ he told himself, ‘you kill people for a living. How hard can this be?’ He wiped the sweat away with his handkerchief.  Alex picked up his coat and put it on.

‘Are you ready?’

‘I suppose I am.’  He quickly pulled himself away from his reflection, the reflection of a man he was becoming scared of.

Sarah Hart was a younger woman of twenty-eight, long, brunette hair and stood the same height as Jack, a tall six foot one.  She had fallen for him the very first time they met, nearly two years previous.  Now in her parent’s house she awaited the arrival of the white limousine that was to take her to a quaint little church in the country.  She stood in the window, the sun reflecting off her silk, white dress as she turned to her mother, who had just walked into the room carrying a small, but neatly wrapped present.  It was handed over to Sarah, its gold wrapping sparkling. A silver bow stood central and ribbons trailed over the sides.

‘What’s this?’ Sarah asked, looking inquisitive.

‘Open it.’  The wrapping, a visual delight, was destroyed in seconds, revealing a velvet box.  Sarah unhitched the small gold clip at the front and opened the box, its old hinges creaking.  Inside, lay a gold bracelet, delicately encrusted with two lines of alternate diamonds and sapphires.

‘Oh, my god, it’s beautiful!’

‘It was your great grandmother’s, something old for your wedding. I wore it on my special day and now I’m giving it to you on yours.’