Lone Strike: A Refracted Man

Here is a free copy of my novelette Lone Strike: A Refracted Man in its entirety. If you would like a printed version see all online book selling platforms to purchase (I get paid more if purchased through Amazon). This book is aimed at 16+ readers/writers.

This novelette features the fictional spy Sean Tanner and associated characters. It can be used in the same way as my writing prompts – readers/writers can have a go at writing their own episodes using the characters and universe provided. Purchasing or obtaining this Novelette grants the buyer/receiver a licence to sell their own fiction/games/comics etc. created by using this book as inspiration. Please refrain from copying the written work as-is and passing it off as your own. Creators are free to put their name on any new, original material created.

If existing characters/created settings are used: Please add – Characters/Spy Universe Created by Antony R James on any works created.

Disclaimer: This Novelette is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, events or created location is entirely coincidental.

Introduction.

Sean Tanner sat at the pub bar and gulped another large whisky. The barman watched him; his notion was, as long as someone was sitting or standing, and did not look drunk, then it was OK to let them drink themselves into oblivion. Tanner kept drinking but showed no sign he was about to fall off his bar stool. The barman left him to it and served someone else.

The pub needed modernising. Sean looked at the brown patterned wallpaper that was curling at the edges. It reminded him of the wallpaper his mother and father had when he was a boy. Sean did not often think about the past: But now, he was glad of a comforting memory. Losing Rebecca had wrenched his heart out. Sean had attended her funeral two days earlier and accompanied her mother back to the remote island where she lived. Now, he was not sure what to do. Sarah Serking had advised him to take a couple of months off to help with the grieving process. Sean wasn't convinced it was such a good idea. It would give him too much time to dwell on things; and too much time to drown his sorrows. Tanner was on the mainland and staying at a small hotel up the road from the pub. He could not face going back to London and decided he would just as well stay put, close to Rebecca's mum. The small town provided enough amenities to fulfil his needs, so he was content enough.

The pub door swung open, a group of lads entered. They were young and in high spirit. Tanner knew at once there could be trouble. Young men with testosterone coursing around their bodies posed a threat; he did not want or need any aggravation.

The group circled Tanner as he tried to leave the pub. They presumably took his hasty retreat as a sign of fear. They were mistaken. The ringleader started roughing up Tanner, and the others soon followed. Tanner was having none of it and grabbed the ringleader by the throat. As Tanner elevated the lad off the ground, the other boys backed away, and the lad in his grasp thrashed helplessly. Eventually, Tanner released the boy, who sank to his knees coughing, and spluttering. The rest of the lads hurled empty threats at Tanner as he left the pub.

At his hotel, Sean Tanner opened his briefcase. Inside was a wafer-thin computer, a nine-millimetre handgun, tracking devices, a satellite phone and an assortment of explosives.


Chapter 1: Lilly.

Lilly Anderson-Prichard stood outside the small, independent, clothes retailer whilst waiting for her friend Bonnie. Their plan was simple; Bonnie would discover high-priced items of clothing they could sell and throw them outside the shop to Lilly. Lilly would leg it and let Bonnie face the music. They had figured without the evidence - they would not get into trouble. It turned out that the local community police officers had other ideas. Since the two girls were on CCTV footage carrying out their minor heist, they had to pay for the items or face the prospect of a caution. When the police left Lilly’s house, her mother looked at her in disbelief.

    “You are grounded for the next month Missy!” her mother hissed.

    “Whatever!” said Lilly, marching up to her room.

    “Are you going to allow her to speak to me like that?”

    Lilly’s father looked at his wife and reflected on what he ever saw in her. Her face was contorting to match the unpleasant woman she had become on the inside. “I’ll go up and have a word with her.”

    “That’ll be a waste of time; you've never disciplined her once since she was born!”

Marcus Anderson-Prichard walked up the stairs seemingly with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Life with his wife Audrey had taken its toll on him; he now stooped badly and seemed incapable or unwilling to stand tall. He knocked on his daughter’s door and waited for her to allow him in. When she didn’t open the door, he called her, but there was no reply.

Audrey leapt up the stairs in a rage and swung open Lilly’s door. Lilly was not in her room or inside the house: Her bedroom window was open, and the drainpipe that led down to the ground was bent, giving away her method of escape.

The night was chilly. Summer was coming to an end, but there was still another month or two left before people would need to batten down the hatches for the storms. The weather had worsened in Britain. Summer, was now spoilt by heat waves, and winters were becoming much harsher.

Lilly stood outside the only remaining pub in town. She phoned Bonnie.

    Bonnie answered, “Hi, Lilly.” she said.

    “Bonnie, do you fancy coming into town?” Lilly didn’t wait for an answer, she laughed. “Mum grounded me for a month, but I’ve managed to escape!”

    Bonnie thought. “If you’re grounded...I don’t want to go against your mother.”

    “Chicken! She can’t do anything to you.”

    “Even so, I can still get into trouble with my parents.”

    “Just come, I’m on my own. I don’t want to go to the pub alone.”

    “OK, but I’m not staying out all night like last time. My parents might ground me too!”

On top of a hill, surrounded by bracken, a figure lay on the ground. Beside the figure, a high-powered rifle rested on a small tripod. The person reached a stainless steel flask and slowly unscrewed the top; a small cloud of steam escaped and drifted upwards; gloved hands cradled a cup of hot tea, and the person sipped and waited. The town below was gradually coming back to life. People had finished work, schools and colleges had emptied. Some people had already had their dinner; other people were coming out buying theirs from the sea of takeaways and restaurants situated along the high street.

Once finished with the flask, the figure checked through the telescopic sight on the rifle.

Below, a young woman stood outside the town pub. The image through the sight resolved, and the figure holding the weapon exercised meticulous care to aim precisely. An index finger curling the trigger squeezed. A crack sounded in the stillness; initially, it was as if nothing had happened - then suddenly, people like ants below started scattering in all directions.

The figure packed up and calmly melted away into the night.

Bonnie was heading for the pub when she was nearly knocked over by a police car whilst negotiating the road. The emergency vehicle hurtled past her approaching the beginning of the high street.

When Bonnie rounded the corner, she could see the road was in the process of being cordoned off.

Police attention centred on the pub. Bonnie took her phone out of her pocket and dialled Lilly; there was no reply. Bonnie tried once more, her heart pounding. Again, there was no reply.

The police stopped Bonnie from getting any closer to the pub, and she had to go home and watch the coverage on the local and later the national news.

A knock, and then the bell ringing, alerted Marcus Anderson-Prichard there was someone at the door. He thought it was Lilly who had forgotten her key again. When he opened the door and came face to face with two police officers, he was temporarily stunned. He and his wife had only recently spoken to the police about Lily and Bonnie shoplifting.

    “What’s Lilly done now?” Marcus asked.

    “I’m sorry, can we come in?” The male officer said.

    “Yes, of course,” said Marcus, leading them into the sitting room.

The female officer asked Marcus to sit down and then explained what had happened on the high street.

Audrey returned home from the local shop and entered the sitting room. Her face hardened when she saw the police officers. “What has that girl of ours done now!”

The offices stood up and explained the situation to her.

Audrey dropped onto the sofa and went into a state of shock.

The officers rang for medical assistance, and when a paramedic arrived by motorcycle, he administered a sedative then suggested Audrey should go straight to bed.

Marcus sat at his dining table with a brandy. He suddenly burst into tears; years of henpecking by Audrey had robbed him of his personality, Lilly had kept him going. Now, Marcus had nothing. He walked through to his garage and found some strong rope. He headed up the open staircase and tied the rope firmly around the top bannister post. A creaking sound echoed off the walls. Then there was silence.

Chapter 2: Analysis.

Timothy Gordon-Hershaw entered as the post-mortem started. Twenty-five years of experience as a forensic pathologist had gained him the admiration and respect of both his peers and his juniors. Most of the colleagues in the room knew him personally or knew of him. He wafted into the room as if on ice and slickly changed into a lab coat, donned goggles, a mask and gloves. Rulers, tape measures and vernier calliper gauges were all wielded to verify the presumption that the entry wound on the victim’s forehead was precisely in the centre. Not approximately, precisely in the centre of her forehead. A clinical shot? Or perhaps just a fluke? It was hard to tell.

Sean Tanner slumped into the comfortable chair with a lager and a bowl of popcorn. He flipped through the television channels looking for another old film to watch. As he moved forward, he stopped on the latest news. It was about a shooting that had happened in the town. Tanner turned up the volume; a young woman had been killed whilst standing outside the town’s public house. The report said that the police had not ruled out the possibility of assassination. Tanner took in the information but flipped to the next channel; it was not his concern.

The satellite phone in Tanner’s briefcase rang; he answered, it was Volgier.

    “Tanner, my friend, how are you?” Volgier asked.

    Sean was pleased to hear from the fellow spy. He turned off the television. “I’m getting there. Thanks for phoning.” Tanner crossed the room. “How are you doing in your new job?” he asked, then set the phone next to his armchair.

    Volgier was now on speaker. “I like it, he said. The best thing I ever did, move to London. Hey, you didn’t tell me how hot your boss is. I think she wants me to take over your job now you’ve moved up north.”

    Sean nearly breathed in his drink, “Very funny.”

    Volgier carried on. “Hey, Sarah’s pencilled in a weeks holiday for me if you want some company.”

    “Are you on first name terms with the boss already? It looks like you’ve got your feet under the table!” Tanner drained his glass and thought about it. “You stay where you are, can’t have you skiving, you’ve only just started.”

Sean chatted with Volgier for half an hour before running out of things to say. He did tell Volgier of the killing in town, and Volgier said HQ2 were well aware of the situation. They wanted to leave it for the local police to handle.

Sean plumped the cushions on the hotel bed, found another old film to watch and lay down to rest. He slept.

In the evening, Tanner went out; he walked up the high street and cringed at the antics of the young lads driving electric cars with sound packs blasting. Vehicles that should be whisper quiet paraded up and down the street with mock sport or muscle car engine effects set high.

One young driver recognised Tanner – the lad from the pub who Tanner had held by the throat. The lad jumped out of his car and tried to punch Tanner. Tanner dodged the blow. The boy was surprised but kept it up. The lad could not land a punch once, and his friends laughed at his efforts. The boy got back into his electric car and sped off with a thunderous fake roar. Tanner headed for the pub.

Chapter 3: Conquest.

Sean looked at the girl lying next to him. She was in a deep sleep, snoring gently: The sun coming in through a gap in the curtains told him it was morning. He vaguely remembered the young lady had to get up early for work. He tried to remember the job she did, but it escaped him. Sean knew he should not let her sleep much longer. It was Six by his watch. He examined her as she slept. She was not a patch on Rebecca, but she was pretty in her way. Tanner tried to piece together events from the night before. Somehow he had managed to come back to the hotel with a young woman in tow. It did not feel much like a conquest on his part. He was feeling guilty and disappointed with himself; Rebecca had been gone for just over two weeks, and there he was, sleeping with the first girl who showed him some interest. As the memories started to flood back, he decided the conquest was hers. The previous evening she was eyeing him up in the pub. Tanner saw from his seat at the bar; her mates were egging her on. Eventually, she plucked up the courage to come over and talk to him. He could not recall their conversation, but he was enjoying her company. Of course, it went further than he would have wanted, and now he was kicking himself. She started to stir.

    “Hello, handsome,” she said, smiling.

    “Did you sleep well?” Sean said without hesitation.

    “Like a log. You must have tired me out!”

    Sean was at a loss as to what to say next, so he leant over and kissed her forehead. It did not feel fake, and his tears welled up.

    “Ah, you’re a real softie on the inside. I took you for a macho man when I first saw you. But you had something about you. I couldn’t take my eyes off you all night!”

    Sean didn’t want to get rid of her as fast as he could; she didn’t deserve treatment like that. She was a nice girl, and he wasn’t willing to tarnish the time they’d spent together. She probably wasn’t expecting it to go anywhere anyway; after all, it was just a one-night stand. “I’ll call down for some food to be sent up. The chef here does a mean English breakfast.”

    “That would be lovely. I don’t have to be at work until Eight. If I’m a bit late - the others can do without me for half an hour; I am the boss after all!”

    Sean tried to remember the job she did but struggled, so he changed the subject. “Have you watched the news recently?”

    “Yes, it’s shocking. I don’t feel safe going out on my own at night. That’s why I was with my friends. We’ve all been looking out for each other since the shooting.”

    “Promise me you’ll keep doing that, you know, staying with a crowd.”

    “Don’t worry, I will.”

Chapter 4: Ian.

Ian Carlsten put on his jacket and stuffed the last doughnut into his mouth. He waved goodbye to his friend and exited the café. The informal meeting had gone well; Ian had managed to convince his long-time friend into parting with twenty thousand pounds to help expand their small business. Vinney was a sleeping partner and wanted no part in the actual running of their business: He was happy to watch from the sidelines and attend the odd meeting every week or two, and as long as they were in profit, he was OK.

Ian looked at his watch. It was getting late; his wife had expected him about an hour earlier for dinner. It was now eight o’clock; he was going to get it in the neck.

High on a squalid hotel roof - under some damp cardboard boxes; a killer lay. The person had a good view of the town centre. A stainless steel flask was nearby. A businessman below was hurrying; he looked at his watch - above a rifle trigger was pulled. The man dropped and lay sprawled on the pavement. A phone in the businessman’s pocket rang.

Chapter 5: Stupor.

Sean Tanner was in and out of consciousness. The television was on, and local newsflashes interrupted the schedule regularly. Beer cans were strewn on the carpet, leaving stains as the dregs of liquid leaked out. Through his alcoholic daze, Sean could make out what the reports discussed. It seemed a small business owner was the latest victim of the sniper. The media had now realised that this might be the work of a serial killer and were warning people out at night to be vigilant. The latest victim was a male, so it looked like anyone was fair game. The reporter mentioned that both deaths were due to a head wound. However, they could not release more details because of the ongoing police investigation. The local crime liaison officer tried to reassure people that it was safe to go to work and carry on as usual in the daytime, as the two murders had happened at night.

Two police officers, one male and the other female, walked with their police dog towards the morgue. They were due to meet the forensic pathologist Timothy Gordon-Hershaw. When they entered, he stopped them in their tracks.

    “You can’t bring a dog into the morgue,” he said.

    “Ranger’s with us. He’s our police dog,” said the male officer.

    “I don’t care if he’s running the investigation. He’s not coming in! Tie him up outside.”

    The male officer went outside with Ranger and tied him to a railing. Once the officer was back inside, the pathologist took them to see the two victims of the sniper. He pointed out the similarities of the head wounds.

    “The media might be correct. It looks like you’ve got a serial killer in town,” the pathologist concluded.

    When the police officers left, they looked for Ranger. He was gone.

    The female officer picked up the dog lead. “I think someone's stolen him!”

    Ranger returned to the police station later that day - with a blood-stained muzzle.

Chapter 6: Lucy.

Lucy Bradstock went to the pub in the hope of seeing Sean; he did say that they’d see each other again, but now, she was reluctant to make the first move. Although she knew where he was staying, she thought it would look more natural if she happened to bump into him.

She waited the whole evening until eleven o’clock, then decided he was unlikely to visit that night. She gathered her things and left; she’d been drinking fruit juices and soft drinks all evening - she was alert but well aware she had no companions. She looked around for familiar faces but couldn’t see anyone she knew. She started to feel scared.

An abandoned three-storey house proved to be a suitable vantage point for the killer. From a loft window, slightly opened, a rifle protruded. Gloved hands wrapped around a flask cup. It was cold. There was no heating, and the damp air was penetrating.

A lone female walked furtively below. Through the telescopic sight, her face showed fear. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek. Was she sad, or was it just the cold?

The killer hesitated for a moment, then pulled the trigger; a clean, accurate shot, precisely in the middle of her forehead. Things were gathered and packed neatly away. The killer left.

Chapter 7: Personal.

Tanner went over to the drinks cabinet. He poured himself a large whiskey. It was days since he’d last had a drink, but now he needed one. The newsreader had said a name, and Tanner stopped dead: Lucy Bradstock. That was the young woman he had brought back to his hotel the other night. The news report went on to tell of her background and details of her death. Sean wasn’t sure of his feelings, but he could feel anger welling up. It had become personal.

That same week, the killer struck again - killing another three women and one man in quick succession. Tanner was beginning to get concerned. It looked like the local police were out of their depth. He would get involved; he couldn’t just sit back and watch everything unfolding on television. Lucy was one of the killer’s victims - it was time for him to straighten himself out and act.

Chapter 8: A close call.

Tanner entered the small police station and met the desk sergeant.

    “Hello, Mr Tanner,” the sergeant said as he shook Sean’s hand.

Sean followed the sergeant to a small interview room.

    “Would you like a tea or coffee?” the sergeant asked, gesturing towards the table and chairs.

    Sean took a seat. “A coffee, please.” Tanner looked at the man’s name badge; it said Desk Sergeant Mike Plainner.

    Mike poured a coffee and placed it together with cream and sugar in front of Tanner.

    “Thank you.” Tanner paused for a moment. He didn’t know how to raise the subject without offending. “How is the sniper investigation coming along?”

    Mike squirmed a little. “Well, we are short-staffed. London can’t spare anyone yet. They said they’ll be sending a detective next week.”

    Tanner couldn’t believe it. “Just one?”

    “They said we’ve got to ask for help from neighbouring counties. We contacted all the counties in the surrounding area, but none of them could spare any officers.”

    “What air support have you got?” Tanner asked.

    Again, Mike looked uncomfortable. “Well, we haven’t had access to a helicopter for over ten years.” He poured himself a coffee and sat opposite Tanner. “Our mechanics had a go at making a flying machine a couple of years ago. It looked like a flying bed; they bolted large drones onto an aluminium frame. They only flew it a couple of times; you know, testing it out, but our lads were too scared to go on it.”

    Sean thought for a moment. “Have you still got the flying machine?”

    “Oh, yes. It’s in one of the garages, probably pushed right at the back.”

    Tanner was formulating an idea. “Could I take a look at it?”

    Mike rubbed his chin and thought. “If you don’t mind pulling everything out and putting it all back again. I’ll give you a hand. Oh, I’ve just remembered, the boys controlled it with a phone and a gamepad. I’ll see if I can find those in the stores.”

At the back of the police station, Sean and Mike stood in front of the flying machine. Car parts and boxes surrounded them. Mike had found the phone and gamepad and quickly charged them in one of the police cars. Tanner paired the gamepad and mobile phone via a wireless connection and then dumped a sack of car parts onto the flying machine. Earlier, Mike had managed to get some charge into the machine’s old battery packs.

    “Here goes nothing!” Sean said. To his amazement, the machine slowly rose into the air and hovered. Tanner tried out all the movements the flying machine could perform and slowly brought it back down to the ground.

    Mike had been watching from a safe distance, shaking his head in disbelief.

    The two men put everything back into the garages; the flying machine now stood in front of car parts. Tanner returned later that day to fit lights onto the machine’s framework.

The following evening, Sean Tanner turned up at the police station kitted out for an aerial mission. He was wearing a jumpsuit he’d bought from an army surplus store in town and a brand-new motorcycle helmet purchased from the local motorcycle dealership. Tanner had his nine-millimetre gun securely stowed in a map pocket and was keen to get going. Mike had charged and fitted new battery packs to the flying machine: He told Sean that the flying machine only had a flight time of about an hour, so they decided to lift it onto a trailer and tow it to Sean’s planned search area.

It was dark when Mike and Tanner arrived at the proposed area. They quickly unloaded the flying machine from the trailer then Tanner sat on top. He opened the control app on the phone, paired it with the gamepad then popped the phone into his pocket. Using the gamepad, Tanner slowly took the machine up into the sky. The lights he had installed worked well, so he began sweeping in a logical search pattern. Ten minutes into his search, Tanner heard a rifle crack. Suddenly, one of the drones stopped working. Tanner decided to abort the mission. Again, there was a crack of rifle fire; another drone stopped working, and the flying machine tumbled downwards. Red-hot needles seemed to jab at Sean’s heart. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. Breath eluded the spy - Breathe, Breathe damn it! Tanner thought.

Sean landed hard - he felt like a rock had hit him. The ground had torn at his body. His throat and back seared with pain, but even worse was the pain in his chest - a mini lightning storm raged. Mike must have seen the flying machine crash-land as he arrived quickly in the police car. He helped Tanner into the car and left the flying machine where it had crashed.

Tanner was well enough to avoid a trip to the hospital, but Mike stayed at the hotel with him overnight.

The next few days saw Sean Tanner holed up in his hotel room while the killings continued at a pace. Tanner felt useless and unable to do anything to help stop the sniper’s rampage. Sean knew he needed time to recover, so he used his laptop and the internet as tools to prepare for his next attempt to snare the sniper.

Chapter 9: The Parcel.

There was a knock at the door. Sean got out of bed, coughed and struggled to swallow as his throat was sore. He opened the door and saw a parcel on the floor; bending down to pick it up, he groaned at the shooting pain in his back. Sean sat at the small television unit and carefully opened it. Inside was an infra-red telescopic sight he had ordered a few days earlier. Sean checked it over then put it back in the box. After setting the parcel aside, he made himself some breakfast from the small larder of food he had recently bought; Tanner cursed as he struggled to eat it.

The news on his laptop was all centred on the shootings happening in and around the town. It looked like the sniper was starting to move farther into the surrounding area. Sean figured the killer might be running a little scared. If Sean Tanner had anything to do with it, the killer would soon be running a lot faster. Once he had finished breakfast, Tanner did a final check on his equipment and clothing. He was all set for his second mission. This time he would travel on foot and use the infra-red scope to search for the sniper. He thought it might pay to concentrate on the outskirts of the town first, as the killer was now moving farther afield.

Tanner had asked HQ2 for a high-powered rifle and special ammunition to be sent to his hotel. He would have to wait for that to be delivered, so in the meantime, he would have to make do with what he had with him.

He had time on his hands as he planned to set off later that evening. Sean decided to go for a walk; he thought the fresh air might help invigorate him.

Sean Tanner walked through the areas biggest public park. It was still quite warm in the afternoons, so he wore a tee-shirt and jeans. Coming to terms with the death of Rebecca was proving difficult for him. Looking around at the couples enjoying the last dregs of the summer was painful. He’d pined for Rebecca for years on the alternative Earth, and when he got back to his Earth, he’d only managed to spend a short time with her before she was snatched away in a terrible accident at their home. He couldn’t get the image of Rebecca lying at the bottom of the stairs out of his head. Stabbing glass pains suddenly attacked his chest. With his head swimming, he stumbled to the nearest park bench.

    A mature gentleman stood up to steady Sean. “Are you OK, son?”

    Sean rasped between breaths, “I’ll be alright. Thank you.” His breathing steadied. “I’ve been getting the odd twinge lately, nothing to worry about.”

    The older man looked concerned, “You want to get to a doctor. Let them check you over.”

    “I will. Thanks for your concern,” Sean said.

    The gentleman shook Tanner’s hand and wished him well.

A dull pain still lingered, but Tanner got up from the bench and carried on his walk, although at a moderate pace. He decided to abandon his planned mission and rest up instead.

Chapter 10: The Arrival.

Brad Manderton sat in his car eating a hot dog. He knew he should have signed in at the small police station early that morning. But he considered himself a law unto himself; after all, he was a top London detective, the last of a dying breed.

He’d picked up a local newspaper from a newsagent’s near the hot dog stand. He took his time reading it through, getting a feel for the area. Manderton knew a top spy was in town. Colleagues said the man might prove to be of help - he ignored the advice. He didn’t need the help from some jumped up government official. This sniper case needed a real detective.

After a nap, he set off for the police station.

Desk Sergeant Mike Plainner dealt with an angry man who claimed their police dog Ranger had attacked him whilst running loose around town. The man was a known petty thief, so Mike gave him short shrift, threatening to charge him for dognapping.

    The following person to walk in looked far too slick and smug for Mike’s liking: The man came up to Mike’s booth. “I’d like to speak to the man in charge,” he announced.

    “The lady in charge is out solving crimes. I’m the only person here at the moment. I’m the desk Sergeant, and at present, I’m the man in charge.”

    “The name’s Brad Manderton, Detective Inspector Brad Manderton. You’re probably expecting me.”

    “Yes, this morning,” Mike said, to wind the man up.

    “It won’t pay to get smart with me. You country folk should be glad I’ve turned up. It looks like you’ve been struggling with this sniper case these last few weeks.” Manderton shot Mike a stern look. “Give me everything you’ve got so far.”

    Mike fetched the case file and put it in front of the Detective Inspector.

    The man skimmed through the file and asked for a photocopy. “I’ll work away from the station if you don’t mind. It feels a little claustrophobic for my liking.”

    “As you wish,” said Mike.

    The man gathered up the photocopied sheets and bid Mike farewell.

    “What a dick,” Mike muttered to himself.

Detective Inspector Brad Manderton scrolled through the screenful of results he’d got on his phone. His search for local shooting venues had returned a high number of matches. He figured countryside pursuits were likely to be popular in most rural areas, so there was a lot of legwork to be done.

A listing caught his attention. It was a shooting-range not too far away from his present location. He got in his car and headed there.

He drew up outside a grand old manor house. The outside of the building had dark Tudor style wooden batons. He walked up to the house, crunching gravel underfoot. A gardener acknowledged him as he rang the bell.

    A ruddy-faced man answered the door; he wore a green quilted body-warmer and seemed flustered. “Can I help you?” he said.

    “Are you the manager of the shooting range?”

    “I’m the owner of all you see. I leave the management of the shooting range to my nephew David, but I know as much as he does about how it runs.”

    “I’m Detective Inspector Manderton. I’m investigating the shootings that have happened in the last few weeks. Is it OK if I ask some questions?”

    “You’d better be quick. I’ve got an appointment in less than an hour.” The man led the Detective Inspector into the manor house and offered him a whisky.

    “I don’t drink on duty. I’ll get to the point of my visit. I want your opinion on who’s likely to be carrying out the shootings - a sort of profile. Are there any likely candidates in the town?”

    “How the hell would I know? It could be anyone. Maybe someone with a grudge of some sort.”

    “Have you or your nephew ever had to ask anyone to leave the shooting range?”

    “Can’t say I recall. I don’t know of any hotheads wielding guns in these parts. The majority of people I know are quite sensible and responsible when it comes to firearms.”

    An electric all-terrain vehicle pulled up outside in a hail of gravel. A fierce beefed-up man got out of the car and flashed a look of disdain at the Detective Inspector. “Who’s this geezer?” he said, in an East End London accent.

    The landowner attempted an explanation but tailed off.

    “I’m Detective Inspector Manderton of…” The detective didn’t get to finish his sentence – a brute of a fist made contact with his nose. Blood filled Manderton’s eyes - he struggled to focus on his attacker. Although unsteady on his feet, he was still standing.

    “Piss off, you posh twat. Leave my uncle alone!” the man spat. Detective Inspector Manderton was grabbed by his lapels and dragged off the property.

Brad Manderton got in his car and examined his face in the vanity mirror. He was a mess – no one was going to take him seriously. He looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer. He decided to head back to London to get his nose fixed.

Chapter 11: The Prodigy.

Jackson Venderstille waited in his car, wishing Sean Tanner would turn up soon. He was not sure why HQ2 had sent him to babysit the spy. Tanner was not ready to be put out to pasture, and Venderstille was sure Tanner would not be pleased to see him.

Venderstille could see Tanner in the distance. The spy still looked in good shape for a man of forty. Although Sarah Serking had hinted that she needed a replacement for Tanner in the not too distant future, Venderstille could not quite see it happening.

    Tanner opened the passenger door, letting in a blast of cold air. “Hi, Jackson,” he said.

    “You do realise Sarah Serking sent me. I’m not here of my own volition,” Venderstille said.

    “Relax, I’m not going to bite.” Tanner switched the heating on. “Why does your car smell like a petrol station?”

    “One of my petrol cans sprang a leak.”

    “Can’t HQ2 give you an electric car?”

    “I don’t like them, they’ve got no soul,” said Venderstille.

    “And I suppose petrol stations are few and far between?” Tanner asked.

    “Getting fewer by the month.”

    Tanner decided to cut to the chase. “Did you bring the rifle and ammo?”

    “Yes, it’s in the boot.”

    “They could have sent it by courier. There wasn’t any need for you to come, was there?”

    Venderstille hesitated. “Well, perhaps HQ2 thought you might need some help.” Venderstille could have kicked himself. He didn’t know what else to say.

    “Well, I can’t blame them. They know I’m not one hundred per cent fit mentally. Losing Rebecca has blunted my edge.”

    “So you’re OK with me being here?” Venderstille asked.

    “I don’t mind us working together on this. Technically, it’s not our mission: We’re only helping out because the police aren’t up to the job, and I don’t mean that in a nasty way. They’ve been cut to the bone.”

    “I’m glad you're OK with me being around; I must admit I wasn’t sure how you were going to react.”

    “Don’t sweat it. Let’s concentrate on stopping the sniper.”

Sean Tanner and Jackson Venderstille worked together over the following weeks. The sniper proved elusive and spread deeper into the countryside - their mission became even more difficult. On one evening in mid-October, the two spies walked back to their car when a near-fatal shot rang out. It hit Venderstille in the head and left him with life-altering injuries.

Sean parked on the roof of the multi-story car park. The hospital helipad was below with an air ambulance waiting to take off. Sean took a few minutes to centre himself before entering the hospital: He hadn't visited Jackson since he was injured by the sniper.

When Sean entered the ward, he knew right away that Jackson would not be returning to work as a spy. The patients on the ward were all affected by head trauma and looked as if they would need months or even years of rehabilitation. Sean spotted Jackson in a wheelchair near one of the windows; he was unresponsive. Sean took a tissue out of a nearby box and wiped the dribble from Jackson’s chin. There was no point staying, the Jackson he knew was gone.

Chapter 12: Lone Strike.

Sean Tanner did not have to be as accurate as the sniper; there was no need for him to showboat. All he had to do was take the person down; he had a weapon in his bag that would do the job nicely. He dug out a small box of rifle cartridges that held a tranquilliser dart within a soft casing. Once the capture bullet hit exposed tissue, the dart would force its way out - and into the target. Luckily, the night was still; Tanner looked at the leaves on the trees - there was no movement at all, so he wouldn’t have to take wind drift into account. He had dressed for the cold in a black thermal jumpsuit and lay between two bushes with a clear view of the town and surrounding countryside. Sean scanned the area through his scope. After about twenty minutes, he saw movement in the distance: A figure was lying down under a small group of trees on a hill opposite. Sean couldn’t believe his luck. He had been searching for almost a month, and now, the killer was in his sight. Sean looked carefully to make sure he had definitely identified his target. A glint of the killer’s gun sight confirmed it. Tanner didn’t hesitate. He aimed for the neck and took the shot.

The figure fell forward, the rifle was loosened and dropped to the ground. Tanner packed up and headed for his car. Once inside, he set off for the range of hills opposite him; he had made a mental note of landmarks, so he’d have no problem finding the tranquillised killer. Tanner had to be quick - the drug used in the tranquilliser dart would only keep the sniper down for about twenty minutes.

A white van parked beside a ditch. Two men dressed in black suits got out. They extinguished their cigarettes on the ground and set off towards a nearby hill. There, they found a figure lying face down under some trees. They dragged the sleeping person to their van, then hauled the figure into the back and shut the doors.

Tanner arrived at the scene a few minutes later. He spotted the cigarettes; they were still smouldering. He quickly ran up the hill to the clump of trees to find a rifle and other bits and pieces left by the sniper. The sniper was gone.

Sean figured it through. The tranquilliser dart should have knocked the killer out cold for at least twenty minutes. Tanner had only taken five minutes to get there, so the sleeping killer should still be under the trees. It began to dawn on Tanner that he may have had assistance from HQ2; perhaps they wanted to clear up for him now he’d got the job done. Maybe they were easing him back? Were they using the sniper situation as an extended training mission? He was at a loss. If they were trying to help, it hadn’t worked. It had wound him up. In his book, this was a loose end.

He went back to his car with the sniper’s belongings and stowed them in the back. As he travelled farther up the road, looking for a place to turn, he could see tyre tread on the road. Skid marks weaved down the hill and stopped near a hedge. Tanner stopped the car nearby and got out to investigate.

A van was lodged in the hedge over a water-filled ditch. Tanner hesitated, then took a chance. He opened the back doors and stepped inside. The back of the van was empty, but he could see two smartly dressed men in the front slumped forwards in their seats. Tanner cautiously edged forward to take their pulse. They were both dead - probably strangled.

    “Damn!” Tanner cursed. He went back to his car to call it in.

    How could the sniper have got away? Tanner knew he’d hit home - unless the killer wasn’t alone. Perhaps someone blocked the road and rescued the sleeping sniper? Tanner couldn’t figure it out.

    Tanner’s mobile rang, he answered.

    “Sean, are you enjoying my little game?” a disguised voice asked.

    “Who is this?” Tanner demanded.

    “An old acquaintance, who’s repaying a favour.” The voice continued. “I was there when Rebecca fell down the stairs. I was the one who pushed her.”

    “Who are you?” Sean blasted.

    “I’m not going to spoil the fun by telling you. My associates and I are having such a ball, toying with you. We’re getting you ‘match ready’, are you enjoying your training?”

    Sean thought about the victims. He needed to keep this joker on the line. His mobile had a voice record and an automatic locater built-in. It was already homing in on the caller’s location.

    “Oh, I am keeping an eye on the time. I’ll soon have to bid you farewell. I wouldn’t want to give my location away,” the caller said.

    “Watch your back. I’m gunning for you!” raged Tanner.

    “Now, now sweetie, don’t lose your cool. It’s been a pleasure chatting with you, but I must dash, you know things to do, people to kill!” the line went dead.

Tanner checked the locater on his mobile. It was just short of getting an exact location. The caller was within a twenty-mile radius.

Chapter 13: HQ2.

The automatic door scanned Sean and opened with a swish; he walked in and saw Brandy Taylor and Alex Farrington. They both hugged him and welcomed him back to work.

    Brandy took charge and guided Sean to a newly added extension to HQ2. “Volgier is waiting for you - he’s got something to show you.”

    “It looks like you’ve been busy while I was away,” said Sean.

    “You wait till you see this,” Alex said.

    They came to a huge door, and Brandy pressed her thumb against a panel. The door retreated to the left and rolled into a tubular housing. Once inside, they met an enthusiastic Volgier; he looked like an excited kid on Christmas day.

    “What do you think?” he said, ushering Sean in.

    Sean Tanner stared at the sleek black aircraft. There was something familiar about it, and then it dawned - it was modelled on the spacecraft he’d helped to design on the other Earth. Tanner’s emotions got the better of him. Tears trickled down his cheeks.

    “Sean, are you OK?” Brandy asked, concerned.

    “Yes, I’ll be OK.” Tanner sat in the office chair that Volgier rolled forwards. Tanner couldn’t tell them why he suddenly became emotional. They probably thought it was something to do with Rebecca. In a way, it was linked to her, but he was overcome because of the memories flooding back at seeing the aircraft. He’d spent years helping with the development of his craft. His goal was to leave the alternative dimension and return to his own Earth and Rebecca. In the years he’d spent on the alternative Earth, he’d formed deep bonds with his friends there. Those memories and Rebecca’s murder were too much for him to handle. He was not his old self and likely, wouldn’t ever be again. Once he’d recovered his composure, he handed his mobile phone to Alex. “See what the technicians can get from the voice recording, the caller was using disguising software, but the team might be able to do something with it.”

    “I’ll get right on it,” said Alex.

Later on, one of the technicians caught up with Sean.

    “We’ve analysed the phone recording and think the caller is a female,” the young technician said, handing Tanner back his phone.

    Sean Tanner’s heart skipped a beat and began to race; pain seared across his chest. A name came to mind; Misha Bardoe. He thought he had finished with her, but as her attempt to leave him stranded in space failed, it looked like she was still messing with him.

    Volgier came over. “You look white as a sheep. You still feel like poo?”

    Tanner laughed, “It’s white as a sheet, not sheep.”

    “Come take a look inside my plane,” Volgier said.

    “Oh, it’s your plane, is it?”

    “I’m the only one that can fly it, so that makes it mine.”

    Tanner was feeling a little better. He was warming to this version of Volgier. “Come on then, lead the way, Captain!”

Chapter 14: The Swarm.

Sean Tanner opened the door and braced himself; this was the first time he’d been home since he found Rebecca at the bottom of the stairs. Now he knew she was murdered, and it wasn’t simply an accident - it made it even harder to step inside. Sean crossed the threshold, but it no longer felt like home. He gathered up important belongings and left everything else; he needed to move on. When Tanner opened the boot of his car, he saw the rifle and other belongings that he’d gathered up after the tranquillised sniper had eluded him. He found an unused bin bag and carefully put the items inside. He would drop them off at HQ2 before finding himself new digs.

Tanner was led up a steep, narrow staircase by a crookbacked landlady. He wanted to help her up the stairs but resisted. She opened the door to the loft room with a giant rusty key. The door creaked, and she waved him in. She was a woman of few words.

    “I’ll take it,” Sean said, after looking around. It wasn’t much, but it had a bed, chair, table and storage cupboards. He didn’t need much else; this would buy him time to look for something more permanent, maybe a house or cottage. He liked the idea of a cottage; good memories of Dark Stream washed over him. He’d missed Terrance and Helen - he couldn’t visit them now as he was supposed to be dead. He had gone deep undercover for six months. Everyone who knew him was informed about his death, including Terrance and Helen - the farmer and his wife who lived next to the cottage retreat Dark Stream. Tanner's new landlady took a deposit, together with a generous six months rent - which seemed to lighten her step somewhat. She went downstairs happy, and Sean kicked off his shoes and crashed on the bed. It wasn’t long before his phone rang.

    Sean fumbled for it. His ears were ringing; his body had only just started its routine repairs - it didn’t like being interrupted.

    Alex Farrington was on the line, “Sean, I’ve got some good news for you. Firstly, Jackson Venderstille is moving to HQ2. We’ve built a rehabilitation suite for him: He's getting an experimental exoskeleton and a brain implant to control it. Secondly, we’ve programmed small solar-powered drones with the scent from the sniper’s belongings. Drones will leave in separate group swarms tomorrow; to locate the sniper.”

    “That’s brilliant, now can I go back to sleep?” Sean flopped back on the bed. He slept.

In the morning, Sean Tanner woke with renewed energy. He was keen to get to work; Volgier had texted, saying they would use the new aircraft to follow up a lead from one of the swarm groups. At HQ2, Sean found everyone gathered around the new aircraft.

    Volgier was wearing an old-fashioned airline pilot hat, to hammer home, he was piloting the plane. “Ah! Here’s our late arrival,” he mocked. “Would all passengers kindly embark to the left.” he continued, pointing to the steps.

    Sean clapped Volgier on the back, “Get us there in one piece old boy.”

    “You do know I trained as a pilot in my country?”

    “I thought you were a sea captain,” Tanner said, winding him up.

    “You’ve read my file, you English wind-up merchant. Get on my plane, or I’ll leave you here.”

    “Sir, yes, Sir, Captain!” Tanner said, saluting.

Inside, the plane was dimly-lit, yet illuminated by banks of computer monitors. Alex Farrington and Brandy Taylor were already seated, and Tanner joined them. Out of the window, they spotted Jackson Venderstille testing his new exoskeleton. He looked to be making swift progress, and Tanner was pleased his new friend was on the mend.

    Volgier came back to the seated spies. “There won’t be a trolley dolly on this flight, so if you need refreshments, then shift your lazy asses and walk to the fridge over there once we’re airborne.”

    “Charming, isn’t he?” said Brandy, laughing.

    “One of a kind,” said Tanner.

“We can’t send him back to his country - they won’t take him!” Alex said, loud enough for Volgier to hear.

    “Love you too, Farrington!” Volgier shouted from the cockpit. “Buckle up, kids, I'm about to take off.” Volgier checked the instrument panels and pressed the button that took care of the automated take-off routine. The roof of the hangar complex slid open, and the aircraft slowly rose above HQ2. Once clear of the buildings, Volgier took control and checked his flight plan on the nearby navigational touchscreen. The location flagged up by one group of micro-drones was a small coastal village on the south coast of Cornwall.

Chapter 15: The Shooter.

The swarm had landed overnight in a secluded spot and gone unnoticed. Once the sun was high enough, their tiny solar panels powered flight. They took off and sought their prey.

In a run-down café, a man tucked into a full English breakfast. Once he had eaten, a waitress set down a mug of coffee on the table. He cupped his hands around the hot drink - as if to warm them. It was a habit he felt the cold. From the corner of his eye, he noticed movement outside: It looked like flies were swarming around the window. He thought it strange. It wasn’t warm now. There shouldn’t be flies around this time of year. Suddenly, a black aeroplane descended and blocked the window light. The man jumped to his feet in a panic. He looked for exit routes; the front of the premises was not an option. When he saw people at the door, he bolted. The man threw open the counter and dashed out the back. The café chef shouted at him, and a waitress screamed as he tore by. Hitting a fire escape door, the cold smell of the street hit his nostrils. He landed in the arms of Alex Farrington.

At HQ2, in an interrogation cell, the man shivered. The room was cold, and he was nervous. He couldn’t fathom how they had found him; he wasn’t expecting to get caught. He was the feared sharp-shooter, cool, detached, clinical. That was him, not the quivering wreck, who now sat at a table waiting. He looked at the toilet cubicle; oh not now, please, not now, he thought.

Sean Tanner and Alex Farrington entered the room, ignoring the smell. They both sat opposite the pale-faced man.

    “Is my solicitor here yet?” the man asked.

    “I don’t think we need to bother busy professionals,” Tanner said.

    “It’s my legal right - by law. I have the right to a solicitor!” the man blasted.

    “We are above the law,” Alex drew his firearm and pointed it at the man. “I could shoot you dead right now, with no comeback!”

    The man passed wind and filled the room with a vile smell. “I have the right to a solicitor,” he whimpered.

    Tanner sat down and spoke in a sympathetic tone. “Look, we can save ourselves a lot of bother if you just tell us the whereabouts of Misha Bardoe.”

    The man squirmed, “I’ve never heard of her.”

    Alex put his gun away and paced the room.

    Tanner took a small notepad out of his pocket and pretended to study the page. “Norman Archwood, aged thirty-nine, ex-army rifleman with hundreds of awards for target shooting over the years. Never married, no children, in fact, no girl or boyfriend. It looks like you’re the typical loner who gets recruited by a power-crazy madman or madwoman – in this case, a madwoman called Misha Bardoe. We know everything about you, even your shoe size.”

    The man was starting to regain his composure. “You’ve got the wrong bloke. I’m just a regular guy.”

    Tanner signalled to Alex.

    Alex placed photographs on the table - in front of the man.

    The man looked them over; they showed the sniper victims and Rebecca Towley. He paused when he got to Rebecca.

    The pause was enough. Sean Tanner’s anger welled. He slammed his fist down on the table. The man jumped and started to look worried. “Rebecca Towley was my girl - my partner!”

    “Hey, I didn’t kill her. I don’t recognise her!”

    “But you recognise the others,” Alex said, jumping in.

    “I’ve seen them on the news. Everyone recognises them.” The man began to sweat; he wiped his brow. His mouth was getting dry.

    Alex sat down next to Tanner. “We can keep you here as long as we like. We’re not the police. We can let you go once you’ve told us what we want to know. We know you were only following orders from Bardoe.”

    Tanner leant forwards. “I’m interested in Bardoe, she killed Rebecca, and I’m going to return the favour. I feel like wringing your neck too, but I can’t have it all. It’s simple, give me Bardoe, and you get to go.”

    “That rhymes,” the man said nervously.

    Tanner glared at him. “Bardoe!” he spat.

    “OK…” the man said.

Chapter 16: Bardoe’s lair.

London had never looked so festive. The Christmas light switch-on had happened the previous day. As an excuse for a no holds barred splurge, officials had found some random event from two hundred years ago to become the focus of the celebration.

Sean Tanner walked under the strings of lights, hands deep in his pockets. He wore a fleece-lined hoodie over a bullet-proof vest with an arsenal of weapons attached - he wasn’t taking any chances. Tanner was going it alone – a lone strike. He had permission to locate and eliminate his target – Misha Bardoe. Norman Archwood had given full details of her location, and she was none the wiser about the divulged information.

Tanner stopped outside a multi-story car park; a locked service door was his interest. He took out a small set of skeleton keys. He found a suitable match and opened the door. Inside it was dark. Donning a head torch, he got his bearings. He could see the service corridor stretched quite a distance before him and that doors led off along it. It was a privately owned car park, so if the owners deemed it necessary to include rooms or suites in the bowels of the building, then it seemed there had been little or no objection. Tanner only had to count Twenty-five doors down, and he’d be standing in front of Bardoe’s hideout.

The solid, metal door looked impenetrable. Sean unzipped his hoodie a little, reached into a small pocket on his vest and retrieved a tiny explosive device. After peeling off the waxed backing paper, he attached the device near the door lock. He retreated a safe distance and waited. There was a muffled bang, then the metal lock and surrounding area melted. Sean pushed the door gently, and it opened. He could see this was no ordinary residence; a metal-clad corridor stood before him, which was lit by small globe-shaped filament lights. A ceiling-mounted camera quickly spun around, and Sean could see its lens rotate as it focused on him. As Sean walked under the camera, he could hear it whir as it repositioned itself.

A click and hardly noticeable, high-pitched sound alerted Tanner that a communication system was in operation.

    “Sean Tanner, welcome to my humble abode. I was expecting you much sooner, but I know you’ve been struggling a bit recently,” a female voice said.

    “Misha Bardoe, I presume?” Tanner said.

    “You presume correctly, Mr Tanner...Oh, do I have a treat for you! I hope you enjoy the show before you die.”

    “I’m not planning on shuffling off this mortal coil anytime soon, but I am looking forward to the show.”

    “Then let us begin, Mr Tanner.”

The filament lights flickered, then went out. Tanner heard an electric motor - he guessed a wall panel was opening. He took a slim gas mask from a hook on his vest. Sure enough - Tanner heard gas escaping into the corridor. He slipped on his gas mask then put on a pair of night-vision goggles. In the green light, he could make out movement ahead. It was a tiger.

    “Damn,” Tanner cursed. Perhaps Bardoe always dreamt of running a circus? He thought. Sean reached for a loaded tranquilliser pistol and aimed. He fired, the tiger fell.

    “Bravo, Mr Tanner. I admire a man who comes prepared! However, the show isn’t over yet. You must meet my robotic buddy. I’ve given him a nickname; it’s ‘Hacker’ - you’ll get it when you see him.”

    A metallic mass suddenly hurtled forwards, swiping with too many arms to count. Each of these arms held a bladed weapon. Sean was grazed a few times by the machine’s weapons hacking down on him.

    Sean figured the machine must have some sensors to see him, so he tried to locate them whilst dodging the vicious blows. Eventually, he narrowed it down to two small cylinders, located high up on its stalk ‘head’.

    Tanner was beginning to tire. Dodging the array of swiping arms was sapping his strength. He needed to act quickly and decisively to ‘blind’ the machine. Luckily, he had a prototype pistol from HQ2. They told him it was only to be used in an emergency - as it was prone to malfunctioning glitches. He unclipped the weapon from his bullet-proof vest. He ran back from the robot and aimed. He pressed the trigger, and he could see a wave of energy through his goggles. The wave enveloped the machine, which then stopped mid-fight. The metal began disintegrating before his eyes until there was nothing but dust on the floor. Tanner was astonished.

    “What have you done to my buddy?” Bardoe screamed.

    “It must be a case of metal fatigue, dear girl.”

    “Then, try your hand at my next game – ‘Poker’,” Bardoe hissed.

Sean could see tiny hatches opening randomly in the walls and ceilings. Suddenly, an object flashed past him. Through his goggles, it showed up brilliant white. He knew that meant it was hot. He figured the projectile was a white-hot poker. At speed, he imagined the damage it would have done to his body if it had hit him. More pokers followed, fired at lightning speed. From behind him, he heard a roar - the tiger had woken up. The tiger caught up with him and lunged forwards. Luckily, a poker skimmed the tiger on its side; it ran away roaring.

Tanner believed he had nothing to lose - he fired his new favourite weapon, disintegrating everything in his path. The corridor walls started to melt away, revealing the mechanical workings of Bardoe’s lair. Tanner could see figures were loading the near-molten pokers into chambers along the corridor. When they saw they were exposed, they fled. Finally, he came face to face with his nemesis. The lights went on, and she stood before him aghast.

    “You just as well use your toy on me, and be done with it!” she said.

    “I have a better idea.” Tanner aimed the tranquilliser pistol at her.

    “You haven’t had time to reload. I’ve kept you too busy!” Bardoe laughed.

    “The boys at HQ2 think of everything. They wouldn’t leave me in a situation like this, relying on a single dart. Surely they would have provided me with a magazine, wouldn’t they?”

    “I think you’re bluffing,” Bardoe said.

    “We’ll soon find out if I’m any good at ‘Poker’, won’t we?” Tanner pressed the trigger, Bardoe dropped.

Chapter 17: Tanner.

At HQ2, a hastily erected glass cell housed the prisoner Misha Bardoe. She sat on a designer chrome chair. No other furniture or objects were in the room.

Sarah Serking stood with Sean Tanner and Alex Farrington. They were looking at Misha Bardoe through the one-way glass.

    Sarah turned to Tanner, “What do you want us to do with her? It’s your call.”

    Tanner took one last look at Bardoe. “Send her to a regular jail. She won't be any more trouble than the other inmates.” Tanner suddenly held his chest and sank to his knees.

    “Sean!” Sarah shrieked. “Alex, get help!”

    Alex ran to the nearest defibrillator and brought it back to where Tanner lay, cradled by Sarah. Alex punched in an emergency code on his mobile and requested medical assistance. In the meantime, he checked Sean’s vital signs before using the defibrillator on him.

Sean Tanner lay in a bed in a London private hospital. He had just come round from an induced coma.

    A doctor came over to him. “Mr Tanner, good to see you’re looking brighter,” he said.

    “How long have I been here?” Sean asked.

    “Three weeks. You were in a mess when you arrived. You were lucky your workplace had the necessary equipment available to stabilise you. We have found some abnormalities that need further investigation, and you also need surgery due to the damage sustained when you had your heart attack.”

    Sean looked shocked. “Heart attack?”

    “Yes, it seems your heart is more akin to that of a much older man - which is a bit of a mystery, considering your age and fitness level.”

Sean thought of the transformation he went through when he re-entered the space anomaly. Perhaps his regression back to being a forty-year-old was not quite as complete as he first thought.

                                                                                                                             ***

Will Sean Tanner survive experimental surgery to replace his heart with a biological 3D-printed replacement? What abnormalities have the doctors found? Will he remain one of Britain’s top spies?

Find out in the next adventure: The Denzcracz File.