Fortunatus Wright - Part 2 : Family Ties

[Stoat]

Chapter 2

He made it out of the building without being challenged. As he looked up and down Glebe Street he wondered what to do next. Bowers obviously had no fears about Nates investigations into Marthas death. But just how much did he know? Nate knew he had to find out, one way or another. He came to a decision and crossed the street. Melting into the mass of civilians walking the pavement, he settled into a small alcove and watched the doors to Garrett house.

Two hours later he was rewarded as Colonel Bowers walked down the steps. Seeing Bowers bandaged nose brought a smile to Nates face. He hoped he'd broken it. As Bowers moved away, Nate slipped out of his concealed position, and followed at a discreet distance. Bowers made his way onto Barker Road, and hailed a taxi. Nate hurried forward then, and was just able to catch the serial number of the taxi as it pulled away. Going to an information terminal, he looked for the location of the taxi company. 344 Tattershall Way. He could get there within 10 minutes if he ran.

Panting heavily, he finally got to the taxi offices 20 minutes later. Damn, he was unfit! Way too much time spent in space. He struggled to catch his breath before entering. It was a simple layout. A single room on the ground floor, with a barred window looking into a control room, where a middle aged man sat with a microphone in front of him. The man looked up as Nate entered.

"Hello guv. Where you looking to go?"

"I'm not," Nate said as he moved up to the barred window. "I'm after some information." He pulled a small gold bar from his pocket, and slid it towards the man at the microphone. The man's eyes bulged as he recognised what was approaching him.

Gold! Nate smiled slightly at the reaction it drew forth. It cost a ridiculous amount to get hold of these miniature bullion bars from his contacts within the Junkers on Trafalgar, but with the war cutting into the Bretonian economy the way it was, the black market was thriving, and the credit was becoming worthless. Only real money was respected there, and real money meant gold.

"Sure thing, guv! What d'you need to know?" The man reached forward for the bar, but Nate kept his grip on it firm.

"One of your cars, number 1994943, picked up a military officer from Barker Road at exactly 13:47 today. I need to know where he was taken, and I need to know right now."

The man's hand paused, and he looked up sharply.

"Military, eh? Yeah, that bastard stiffed us on his fare, asked John to wait for him! Marchall district it was. Garbantrey Road. John said he went into number 47. Never came out. John tried to get into the place but it was locked up tight."

"Thanks. When I catch up to him, I'll be sure you get your fare." Nate turned and headed for the door, leaving the gold on the counter.

"You do that, mate!" shouted the man. "Always a pleasure doing business with a man of your..........distinction!!"

Fortunatus headed home then. He'd wanted some help if he was going to the Marchall district of Leeds. It was a dangerous place, and that meant he already knew who he wanted with him. Nobby Preston. Nobby knew the ins and outs of all the dodgy places in Bretonia it seemed, and Nate couldn't think of anyone he'd rather have covering his back. As soon as he got back to his apartments, he sent a transmission to Nobby. Within the hour, dishevelled and smelling strongly of tobacco, along with the sour aroma of hops, Nobby was at the door.

"Well, come on! Let's get this done, eh?" he said, immediately heading back out of the building. Nate locked the door and scurried after. Nobby's transport was a vehicle to match the man that drove it. Not exactly what Nate would have chosen, but they'd blend in seamlessly in Marchall. Nobby tended to do that, blend in. Nate wasn't sure, but he'd swear that half of it was because people seemed to actually block out the fact that Nobby was really there. It was a state of affairs Nate had seen his comrade use to his advantage many times. As they drove, Nate explained what had happened earlier in the day, and before long they had reached the edges of the Marchall district.

"You know where we're goin'?" Nobby asked, leaning over to Nate. "Can't see you 'aving been this way too often, eh?" A broad grin split Nobby's face and he chuckled.

"Er, not a clue Nobby. Garbantrey Road is what we're after. Number 47."

"Garbantrey, eh?" said Nobby, sucking air through his teeth. "Nasty area that. You did the right thing, asking me along. Right nasty area indeed. So, we're looking for Colonel Bowers are we? I'm gonna enjoy kicking seven bales outta that one, one day. Stuck up prick, he is. Something about him just don't sit right. You know?"

"Too right Nobby, just not tonight. This is merely an information gathering exercise. I want to know why he's here."

Nobby nodded, and went back to concentrating on the road. Ten minutes later he pulled over, pointing ahead.

"Garbantrey Road, Nate. Just through that alleyway. We'll be about halfway along if we go through there, or we could split and take an end each. What's your plan?"

Nate glanced at Nobby. "Plan? You think I'm planning this? You take that end, I'll take this. Meet you about halfway, right?"

Nobby nodded, and headed up the street they were on, quickly fading into the murk. Nate headed in the other direction. The streetlights were patchy at best. There was litter everywhere, plastic, tin cans, rusting chunks of metal, shattered glass, dead rodents, weeds growing through cracks in the pavement and road surface. This area hadn't seen much love in the past twenty years, that much was obvious. He glanced over his shoulder as he reached the end of the street, but there was no sign of Nobby. Not that he expected there to be.

He edged his way towards the start of Garbantrey Road. Peering around the corner, he saw a street much like all the others in the area. Dirty, poorly lit, with boarded up and broken windows everywhere. And no people. None that he could see at least. The lighting was so poor that large parts of the street were in complete darkness. Nate took a deep breath, and stepped onto the road, not knowing what to expect. There were no lights in any of the windows. The doorways he passed were deeply shadowed, and the occasional alleyway offered nothing but dark terror. He checked a door as he passed it. 174 hung from it in rusted iron. 'Looks like I picked the long way round,' he thought as me moved slowly up the street.

As he closed on number 47, he was grabbed from behind a pulled into an alleyway. A huge hand across his mouth stopped him from shouting out, and he was slammed hard against a wall, knocking the breath from him. As he gasped for air, he was roughly turned around, and looked into the eyes of a very large, muscled, crew-cut man. Nate looked into his eyes, and saw nothing but his death there. The huge hand gripped him round the throat, blocking off his breathing, and he was lifted bodily off the ground. Nate kicked out at the man, desperate to escape, to breathe, but he could feel his strength seeping away. Spots sparked on the edges of his vision, and he felt like he was entering a dark tunnel.

Just as he was about to pass out, he caught a glint of light, right in front of him. There was a gasp of surprise, and the vice-like grip on him suddenly released, and he crashed to the ground, sprawling forward as he gasped and coughed. Cool, delicious air flooded his burning lungs as his vision returned to normal. He saw a large, slumped form beside him, and smelled, rather than saw, Nobby. He looked up into Nobby's face, and saw anger there.

"You damned fool Nate!" Nobby rasped. "What the hell were you thinking, just waltzin' up the street? You're damn lucky I got to you in time. Ahhhh, I bloody hate havin' to stick a knife into someone, but you left me no sodding choice, now did you?!"

"Sorry Nobby," Nate gasped. His breathing was starting to come a little easier now, though his throat still hurt like hell. He saw a pool of blood seeping from the body lying next to him. "You saved my life. I can never thank you enough. Who the hell is, sorry was, this guy anyway? He isn't just any old thug." He grabbed hold of the man's far arm and rolled him over. Rifling through pockets produced a wallet, which Nobby opened.

"Oh hell!" What colour Nate could see had just drained from Nobby's face. He passed the wallet to Nate. There was an identity card. Nate went cold. It was a Bretonian secret service agent, and they'd just killed him.

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