This is the final chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .

The Aftermath

“The juvenile was blasted across the lawn of the Tower and his current condition is unknown. In the immediate aftermath of the sudden appearance of what (in the moment) seemed like an army, all people crowded around the technology were detained and the monarch was rushed to safety. It has later transpired that there is a strong and well-hidden terrorist organization whose influence reaches further than can be told at this time working against the interests of this country.

In an official statement the MOD revealed a previously secret branch of the armed forces known as the SES (Special Experimental Service) who have been tracking and combating the terrorist organization: Collective Power. However, it seems that this SES hasn’t been doing a good enough job…” Emily trails off.

“Continue.” I say, glaring at the fluorescent light above me.

“But,” she protests.

“Continue.” This time with more vigour, fist clenching round the paper-thin gown.

“What is the purpose of this new organization? And why aren’t they protecting us properly?” she finishes off with a sigh. “Look they don’t know anything it’s just the Weekly Post everyone knows they always waffle. Don’t listen to them.”

“Yeah but…” I trail off, wanting to be angry at the world.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Emily puts the paper on my bed and leaves, resigned. Immediately I regret it, the one thing I’m not mad at is Emily. Everything just keeps getting worse. My phone buzzes for the thousandth time, a random ‘friend’ from swimming lessons 12 years ago or a 3^rd cousin 8 times removed that I met at some wedding one time. The rage explodes. As does my phone as it clatters into the blank wall. Flopping back, helpless, angry and guilty I don’t know how to make anything better.

Eventually, Emily returns (with food which always helps). We rant and vent and bounce off each other, getting everything out, it feels great just to spill everything and complain and whine. Predictably we get slightly carried away when we suggest shooting stuff to really get our anger out. The understanding that we have is unique. It’s indescribable and irreplaceable. We’re both fuming one minute but laughing the next. Depression promptly turns to inexplicable hilarity.

“It’s just the shadows were nice. No one knew what we were doing, no one talked or judged or targeted us, no one did anything. We were free…”

“Mhmm,” Emily nods through a mouthful of truly disgusting chocolate mousse, “Hospital food really is as bad as I thought it was gonna be.” She tosses the rest into the bin but partially misses.

“I guess there’s nothing we can do now though. I have no clue what will happen in anything actually.” The realization hits me. I know nothing about the future, I have no power or control. I just have to trust in the power of goodness and justice and the strength of others.

I am quickly discharged, as I keep reiterating to Emily I was only “Mildly electrocuted and a little bit concussed and had some insignificant internal bleeding.” Finally losing the itch inducing gown, and returning to my usual rugby shirt and hoody, I wander out of the room which was my cell for the past 48 hours to find the other three IMPS waiting for me. They stand (Elijah irritatingly tall now). Emily on my right, Jacob and Elijah on my left. And we prepare to face everything.

We prepare to face our friends, the media, the politics, the pressure. Our lives will forever be changed. None of us know what the future has in store for us. We are all certain that the next month or two at least will be extremely uneasy. We walk towards our introduction to the world. We walk towards a battleground none of us are prepared for, the battleground of public opinion. But we do it together, we do it as IMPS. The automatic doors slide open and cameras start flashing, questions start flying, the storm has begun…how long will it last?

This is the fourteenth chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .

Light at the End of the Tunnel.

Coughing our way down the tunnel, obviously left undisturbed for centuries, dust fills the air and coats our lungs. Emily and I feel our way through the numerous twists and turns, in the pitch black, until a small glow becomes visible down a long straight pathway. Growing at equal rate with our eagerness, the light appears to be cracks in and around a door, equally as old as the tunnel it blocks. Our spirits are soon doused as if by a tsunami when the door is revealed to be firmly locked. The lock seems rudimentary enough with a large opening but is also firmly sealed with rust.

In frustration at yet another promising lead disappearing, Emily screams and boots the door. Boots the door so hard that her foot careers straight through the old, damp oak. Emily turns to me with wide eyes before starting to fall over. Everything slows down, reaching out a hand I grab her head and wrap my other round her back, arresting her fall. Then, after awkwardly manoeuvring her leg out of the door, we begin to dismantle the weak wood bit by bit. We do our best to be quiet but the splintering and cracking noises are inevitable. After dismantling a hole large enough for Emily’s slender frame to squeeze through, she disappears and I assume slips through the hole.

One thing is for sure, if we are to triumph in the end: we will have to use our powers and training in the most efficient and effective way we have ever done. A slight splinter being knocked back into the tunnel reveals Emily’s return. Panting ever so slightly she reports that there is no one guarding the outside of the fort or watching the moat. Their blunder is entirely to our benefit.

“Right, so if we say that we can operate indefinitely in the moat as long as we remain on guard and careful…” My thought process trails off and I look meaningfully at Emily, not sure what to do next.

“Why don’t we go and have a look, see if there are any points of weakness?” she suggests, obviously eager to be proactive.

This time, Emily remains visible, leading me out of the doorway, the strong light feels like its singeing my eyes. Sticking close to the inner edge of the moat, we make our way round the castle, looking for weak points as we go. Due to there being no good angle to view the battlements from, we decide to turn back. Sending both our heartbeats flying up, we dive against the wall, as a cluster of chatter and laughter floats down to us coupled by multiple streams of urine. Emily and I lock eyes, failing to stay serious we both desperately try to swallow out laughter but Emily slips. Slapping a hand over her mouth her eyes widen before flicking up to the men above.

The laughter turns to shouts as a hail of bullets evicts us from our ineffective hiding place. I push Emily in front of me and away from our attackers yelling for her to disappear. She shouts something inaudible but doesn’t melt away. It takes me informing her, “That is an order!” for her to obey. Everything slows down as I look over my shoulder. It’s just like a rugby game, right? Just instead of dodging people I’m dodging bullets. I see a sputter aimed close to the wall, so I stray away. Slipping slightly, I graze my face on the harsh tired masonry. Bouncing off it I accelerate round the corner in time to see the gap in the door shudder as Emily obviously dived through.

Skidding to an abrupt stop, the saturated ground leaves no grip and I slide right past the door and fall hard on my hip. Scrambling up in desperation, I see a flock of bullets streaking through the air and dive toward the wall, covering my head. Most of the bullets pepper the mud surrounding me, however, one stray bullet hits the wall just above my shoulder. Due to the firing point of the tower, the shooters are able to angle their shots into the base of the wall. Therefore, the bullet fragments and ricochets off -along with chunks of stone- embedding themselves in multiple parts of my right shoulder and upper back. Wincing at the pain, I dodge one more bullet (ducking to my left) and follow Emily through the door.

Struggling through the pain, we continue to flee down the tunnel, kicking up yet more dust. We fly back down the twists and turns, bouncing off the walls when we fail to properly slow down enough to make the turns. We see the faint glow of the entrance to the tunnel. Despite doing my best to focus on the situation at hand, my mind keeps rebounding to the irony that what used to seem like a prison now seems like the safest place to be.

We enter the basement and skid to a stop. Looking at the huge hole in the wall we barely have time to catch our breathes. Emily sighs in what seem awfully similar to defeat. A flutter of despair seeps into my thoughts but my ingrained stubbornness and intolerance of failure eradicate it. Looking at the stone on the ground it doesn’t look immovable. If we can get it back in then we can barricade behind it and continue to plot. “We, we, we need some sort of lever. Something which we can use to gain mechanical advantage with…” I begin to pace the room, thought rapidly racing through my brain.

“Jack, its over. I’m, I’m sorry, Jack…” Emily stares up at me with eyes swimming in regret.

A smile bursts onto my face causing Emily’s expression to faulter into confusion. “Don’t be sorry, come help me move that torture machine!” I call over my shoulder as I rush off. After much sweat and blood loss. The cursed machine is in place. Attaching all of the pulleys and such onto the stone as best we could, we try to turn the crank. Leaning against it with all our might all we achieve is a mere creak. But as the rust crumbles in the joints the centuries old hardened, murderous iron begins to find new life. The huge wheel slowly gives way to our efforts and with every click of the gears, the ancient masonry rises by an inch.

As the wonders of the simplest yet truly ingenious physics take their course, Emily and I gain momentum. Even if not in physical speed of motion, momentum in our hearts grows to new heights. The feelings of inevitable loss disappear and the idea of capture becomes laughable. A smile captures my face as I look at Emily. Both sweating profusely, muscles burning and bodies exhausted: all we can do is laugh, laugh in an ironic way, laugh because- despite everything seeming so dim- hope consistently manages to dance back into light. All the while the stone continues to rise until it falls into place, perfectly filling the gap and corking the possibility of defeat.

We take a minute to breathe and cough up all the dust which we had inhaled, then I return to the room filled with maps and begin to study other diagrams drawn up at similar times. It seems multiple identical tunnels were dug under the tower into the moat to upgrade the plumbing but technological advancements made them futile before they had been put to use. Therefore, there are three complete tunnels and a fourth partially dug tunnel branching out of the Tower of London. By photocopying multiple maps and piecing them together, I produce one super map covering the whole castle and all the tunnels.

Like a spark plug in an engine, my brain starts formulating a plan faster than I can annotate the map. I cast my gaze up to Emily leaning against the door frame and return her smile for a fraction of a second before returning to my work; not wanting to lose the ideas like a dying ember.

This is the thirteenth chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .

Besieged and Forlorn

Sitting. Legs tucked up. Pondering our predicament . Ultimately my failure. “What could I have done different?” The same question ricocheting again and again round my brain. I stare down the door, the only thing separating us and complete defeat and demise of the SES as an institution. I glare at the flimsy looking struts supporting the ancient wooden frame with the iron studs holding together the medieval oak. Energy courses up and down the muscles in my legs and I explode up, unable to resist the itch of action. Wishing, begging, needing a fight I check the time on my normal watch (not the time skip one) ’00:23’ “Fantastic. Not even 1/5 through my watch and I’m already going mad.” Having drawn the short straw for tonight, I have the pleasure of the witching hour watch.

I bound up the stairs and step out into the slightly warm air of London’s summer night, having now been in the tower (under siege) for about 60 hours, peculiarly no one has suffered even a single simple symptom of hunger. Not a belly rumble or stomach ache has been felt, meaning this escapade could continue for as long as they want. Looking down at the ground, it is a very oxymoronic image of one of the oldest fortified castles in Britain surrounded by scores of highly advanced helicopters, equipped with every type of radar and sensor that can be dreamt of. Spotting a security guard on the opposite side of the courtyard, obviously itching to get on with things, I dutifully snap to attention and give him the most sarcastic salute I can manage (which is a significant amount of sarcasm).

He returns with a less courteous gesture and I clutch my hand to my heart in heart felt sorrow. Giving him another two fingered salute, I continue my lap of the roof and climb up right to the top of the circular tower, the highest point in the tower. I stretch out across the roof on my back and prop myself up on my elbows. I look around, the flickering lights not flickering, the planes not flying, the smiles not laughing. This city holds so much of everything. So much capital, so much power, so much history; but beyond that, it holds so much more. So many families, so many people, so many memories. I think that’s worth protecting.

Having a distinct lack of options, I rack my brain for an amount of time which I don’t measure and I think that there might just be a way. After looking through multiple rooms full of book shelves, I collect what I’m looking for, multiple maps ranging from the oldest to the newest I can find. Stretching them out across a huge oak table, I begin searching for any minute detail the architects, centuries before, might have hidden away for us, to give us that much needed edge over our besiegers. I look for any secret rooms but ultimately my hope is for some sort of secret tunnel. Obviously allowing for movement in and out, supplies, information and surprise could be transported and we currently lack in all of those things.

My original idea is in the maps just after World War Two, hoping to find some sort of aircraft shelter or store for all the castle’s riches. This is to no avail. After searching for just over two hours, crawling through maps from different decades, centuries and millennia- Emily comes and relieves me of watch. “Woah, what’s all this then?” She traces her way through the various cardboard boxes and waves her hand in front of her face in the impossible hope of clearing the intensely thick cloud of dust which had lain undisturbed for many life times.

After explaining to Emily what I was doing we decide to work on a century each and work from each end of the timeline. After many hours, many excited reactions which turn out to be nothing and more disappointed groans than can be counted- Emily’s watch ends and we nearly give up. However, somewhere in the 17^th century, a diagram of the white tower shows a tunnel disappearing off the edge of the page towards a not yet built Tower Mint. Sprinting past a perplexed and sleepy Lizzy in the main entrance, clutching the map, Emily and I race towards our destination.

Finding our way into the basement we wander, heads in the map, trying to get our bearings right. “So, this way’s North.” Emily spins us to be positioned facing northward. A sonorous ring bounces around the chamber we are occupying, “Oh my goodness, Jack! Are you alright?”

“Yep, just fine.” I rub the top if my head and inspect the grotesque lump of metal I just walked into, “Huh, looks like some medieval method of torture.”

“That’s because it is.” Emily reads off a sign, “Proper famous one too, could’ve tortured Guy Fawkes.”

“Well, can confirm that it hurts. Anyway, we have a tunnel to find.” Emily leads the way out of the chamber which is fully sealed with stone and I follow leaving with a reproachful glare at the metallic monstrosity. Still rubbing the top of my head, I follow Emily into a room to find her feeling a wall. “This it then?”

“Yeah, I think…” Emily trails off looking all over the wall.

“What ‘bout that.” I point to the top left-hand corner of the wall where there is a small (barely hand-sized) but perfectly circular hole bored into the Portland stone. I reach my hand up and can fit up to my wrist in but don’t have the angle to get further in. Emily climbs onto my shoulders and explores the whole. When she is in up to her elbow, she stops moving.

“Jack.” She whispers, “Jack!” She screams, “There’s something moving in here. What the-” a huge thud resonates through out the cavern, then a creak, then the crumbling of soft, sedimentary stone. I grab Emily’s waist and lift her over my head. Placing her daintily in front of me, I slowly advance towards the now not so solid looking wall and put my ear against it. “Jack, don’t you’ll get hur-” Emily protests.

“Nah, powers remember. What could possibly go wrong?” I smirk and listen intently. In the next instant, the wall cracks in a perfectly straight line; centuries of dust, dirt and dinginess explode out from the crack and the section of wall right next to me falls out in front of my face, grazing my nose.

“Powers, huh?” Emily is stood, hands on hips glaring at me.

I open my arms, “Hey, I’m fine, aren’t I? Still standing just as strong.”

“Through luck as much as anything else.” Emily creeps towards me and peers through the opening.

“Who doesn’t need a bit of luck?” I brush dust from my shoulder onto her, producing another slight glare. I step forwards into the dark passage which is about two feet wide, squeezing through I emerge into a wide, expansive, descending cavern.

This is the ninth chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .

Family Fixers.

Emily shifts nervously beside me, “Can we go through to my room, because I don’t want Jacob and Elijah to hear any of this?”

“Sure.” I get up and follow her through. She sits down and continues to fidget, “It’s ok, I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“Yeah, right.” Emily scratches her head and I can see in her eyes the moment that she decides to just stop thinking and start acting (what I call her screw it moment). “So, when I was younger, my Mum went through some hard times- not just when I was younger actually. She has powers too you see but she didn’t know what they were. Seeing as she had no other logical explanation, she started (I guess you’d call it) self-medicating. W…w…with-.” Her lip quiver turns into a strangled sob. She buries her head in my shoulder. “I just feel so guilty, for leaving her.” She looks up at me, “I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Don’t be.”

“Well, I am- was- stuck in this cycle where I’d get her better (off everything) I’d get her sober and then she would be healthy enough to go see her dealer and buy all the booze she wanted again.” She drops her head, “I know you will think I did the wrong thing but I couldn’t have left her, I couldn’t have lost her physically as well as mentally.”

“Emily, I understand.”

“No, you…Oh of course you do. I’m sorry that was stupid for me to say.”

“Ahh, don’t worry. Come here,” She slides in next to me, “We’re both scarred (and maybe a bit scared at times) but that’s what makes us who we are. And, we would never have met if it weren’t for these powers- so we must make the best of it and make sure others don’t have to go through what we did.”

“Well said.”

A couple of hours later, I walk out of O’Drice’s office. “He wasn’t what I would describe as happy with us finding a loop hole in the setup of SES buuuut, he was impressed and said that we could go.”

“Just don’t get into any trouble.” O’Drice calls through the closed door.

“When have we ever done something like that?” Emily sarcastically returns.

“Do you want a list?”

Getting off the bus, I follow Emily to her house, I’ve never been to this part of London even though it isn’t too far away from where I grew up. “Umm, Jack, I think it would be best if I went in alone.” Emily says awkwardly, “She can, umm, she can get a bit spooked, sometimes.”

“Alright,” I retreat back onto the pavement and wait. A few hours later Emily leads her mother- a small and slight woman of Chinese heritage- (now washed and fed) into my mum’s house. Our idea was a simple one: my mum is lonely on her own now, Emily’s mum needs a nurse to keep care of her and my mum is a nurse. Everyone wins right? Right until it happens…

Objects flying through the front window of your home isn’t really the best welcome home present. Emily and I both grab our respective mothers and push them out of harm’s way. There seems to be a continuous stream of flying objects: traffic cones, rocks, branches and those diversion signs they never take away. All coming into the living room, So I grab Emily’s arm and pull her upstairs. Striding into my old bedroom, I peep my head just slightly above the windowsill. At first inspection, a single man stands in the middle of the road (next to a highway maintenance van). He is throwing all sorts of junk at my house and is wearing an unusually heavy cape pinned at the neck- especially considering the summer heat. However, if I look more carefully, there are multiple other figures standing around. One in the mouth of an alley, one next to a tree and another leaning against the van.

I whisper something to Emily and then slink down the stairs and out the back door. Hopping over the side gate- due to the squeaky hinge- I signal to Emily (who has used her power to disappear) and see the window swing open. When I see small impressions on the grass I call out, “Oi, Count Dooku, shove off.” He turns and (without changing expression) catapults a huge section of lamp post cartwheeling through the air. Everything slows down, but even so the post is still moving fast leaving me with no choice but to dive into the corner of my house.

The bricks work like a cheese grater on my face and when I scrape myself off the wall and face my attacker, he has already sent three more missiles in my direction. After a series of impressive and (if I’m honest) surprisingly skilful dives and rolls over my sand papery drive. I bounce back up to see the van accelerate down my road, “Well done Emily.” I think- the pause unhelpful for my wish to stay in one piece. The other Collective Power agents (their cover blown) join the fight.

They form a line in the centre of the road and the hail of scraps dies off, their ammunition gone. They advance, “Seriously, could you look more evil even if you tried.” I hop up onto my Mum’s car, “Ha, it’s over- I have the high ground.” They (not speaking) still advance. “Y’know, you really aren’t doing anything for the stereotypes.”

Then the guy in the cape picks the car up, “Woah, cape boy slow down. Why don’t we think about this?” Then everything slows down when he starts to spin it. Faster, faster and faster still- even when everything is slowed down- the world is still a blur. I hold onto the roof rack and have to use all my strength to not fly off into the fathomless imperceptible surrounding. Then it suddenly stops accelerating.

The car loses all control, ricocheting off the wall protruding out from the garage, then the house and off- across the road- into my old neighbour’s garden. I get up, brush myself off and try and walk forwards. My eyes swim and I have the feeling (familiar from rugby) of an impending concussion. I blink and shake my vision clear and stagger back through the fence. What I see- I assume- must be a figment of my imagination.

However, no amount of shaking my head or slapping my cheek can send the image away. Before me is the Highway Maintenance van, bonnet crumpled and front wheels slowly spinning in the air. The large oak in my front garden has a new feature, a rusted, ancient and now crippled truck embedded in its lower trunk. Emily stumbles out and catches my eye. “Boom,” I say.

“Yeah, boom,” Emily tucks her hair behind her ear and looks at the destruction she has caused, and we can’t help but laugh. Laugh until the truck starts to levitate. It shoots up twenty feet, revealing the four Collective Power agents- the smile drops from our faces like a lead balloon. The van hovers above us so I have no choice other than to run towards our attackers. “Jack, what are you doing?” Emily calls out confused and disturbed.

“They won’t drop it on us if it’ll also hit them.” I call over my shoulder causing her to sprint towards me and the agents to drop the van. Everything slows down, I dive towards Emily. I scoop her up and roll towards the base of the tree…

This is the eighth chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .

Back to Where it Started.

Boom, a turquoise ripple flies out of us and then the video cuts out. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve watched it now. I check the time at the bottom right corner of my laptop (00:17). The light of the screen illuminates Emily’s face on my shoulder. I close the laptop and slide Emily round so she is stretched out on the sofa. I creep from the common room to my dorm and then toss and turn for the next six hours until I have to be up.

Falling into a chair in briefing room five, I reopen my laptop screen and play the video yet again. “Jack, this is becoming an obsession. You really need to ease up.”

“I just don’t understand it. Something happened to us and it’s not normal so I want a reason.” I lean back and rub my eyes.

“Jack, look around you. Is any of this normal?” Emily puts her hands on her hips.

“I…I just really need to know what happened to us.”

“We will, in time. For now, we have to do the task we’ve been ordered to: figure out what these time skips are.”

In a matter of confusing minutes, we are in a situation that if you told me two weeks ago that I was in I would have told you that you were seriously confused. We are sat on a train with CAPS and O’Drice. O’Drice is sitting looking very confused as Lizzie messes about with Elijah and the rest of us talk and laugh (all this is new found territory. I don’t think that we have ever laughed with each other, at each other all the time but never with. O’Drice waves me over, “When did this happen?” He gestures to the good mood in the carriage.

“Don’t really know to be honest.” I reply and retake my seat next to Emily.

I unzip my bag and reach in. Emily sees me out of the corner of her eye, extending her arm towards mine, she places a firm hand in mine, “C’mon Jack. Leave it and relax, we can restart investigations when we get back to London.”

“Alright,” I zip my bag back up.

Getting off the train, the thick, polluted and muggy air hits me. Pulling my hat on I walk the now familiar steps down the platform of Euston station, I can already feel the sweat building on my spine and that’s before getting on the tube. By the time we get to my little suburb we are drenched in sweat, “You know, I don’t think the French Alps were so bad anymore.” Emily says, panting.

“What have you lot been doing?” I ask (wearing a new t-shirt).

“How?” Emily asks- more than a bit disgruntled.

“Benefits of having a Mum nearby.” I say- definitely gruntled.

“Yeah, right, your Mum’s awesome.” Emily says dreamily.

The IMPS and CAPS are stretched out in a park, O’Drice left to take a phone call but is coming back over now.  “We’re going to go and take up the man hole cover for a start and see what we should do next.” O’Drice announces.

“Great, manual labour.”  Ryan, one of the CAPS, remarks.

When we reach the time skip, Ryan and I heave off (with a lot of difficulty) the cover. Before even I can react, Emily hurtles forward and face plants into the hole under the cover. “Woah, what the heck?” I blurt out, “Emily are you ok?”

“Not really.” Emily says (muffled due to her face being pressed against this strange device. Filling most of the hole is a jumble of wires, pipes and various metallic boxes full of electronics. All of it looks ominous, none of it looks good. I lean down and undo the clasp of her necklace with clumsy fingers.

She gets up, “Cheers.” The rest of them and O’Drice crowd around the device and start to look for a way to turn it off.

After ten minutes, I lean forward and ask, “What about the big red switch on the side?”

“Well, that’s obviously the self-destruct.” Elijah says, giggling.

“Guess we’ll find out.” O’Drice flicks it and sure enough Emily’s necklace slides right off. Everything slows down, I dart out my hand and scoop the chain out of the air before it can disappear into the bottomless cavern.

“Here you go.” I pass it to Emily.

“Thanks.” She says awkwardly, hiding it as fast as she can.

Once we are back on the train, a huge black box filling the luggage rack, I sit down next to an unusually withdrawn Emily. “What’s up with you then?”

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, I’m not that dense.” I look at her and she averts her eyes, “Have I done something? Or said something?”

“No, nothing like that. You’ve not done anything.”

“Then what is it?”

“I told you, it’s nothing.”

“Then why did you suddenly stop talking to me when I saw that necklace?”

“Look, Jack, it’s nothing that you have done- I promise. But I really can’t tell you. I know you would understand if I did tell you but not telling people has always been my defense…but I don’t know if I can carry on…” Emily buries her head in my shoulder and begins to quietly cry.

When we get back to Scotland, Emily is fine, we open the case and watch as the technicians begin dismantling the device, constantly taking pictures after every part taken off. It seems that it is made up of eight huge electromagnets, all spinning around and amplified by a series of panels which are taken away for testing. “Very well done, all of you, this is a very significant find.” Colonel McVallen, ever a woman of few words, holds a distinctly proud expression as she speaks. We go back to the common room, Jacob and Elijah go off to mess about somewhere (they have built a very strong bond) and I get my laptop out. I press play on the video again when Emily emerges from the dormitories.

“Jack, I need to tell you something…”

This is the seventh chapter in a book I am writing. The book (Undercover and Investigating) is the third book in a series, you can find the previous two books here: https://writeboy.blog/my-stories/ .

A Better Break Out.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t contact me, or someone else in IMPS or even the entire SES.” McVallen sits in a briefing room of the MOD.

“Well, we didn’t know who to call because we were told you were doing something very important and special (or something like that) and O’Drice, well that was what we were trying to do.” I’m trying to dig myself out of a hole but I think I’m just continuing down.

“Also, we did contact people from IMPS. We called Jacob and Elijah.” Emily adds.

“Yes, that will be a separate discussion.” McVallen give me a stare as icy as the top of Ben Nevis in the winter.

“Sorry, Jack.”

“Anyway, for now we must focus on getting O’Drice back. I feel that we must bring some people in for this.” McVallen moves on.

“No.” Emily and I say in unison, “You can’t, c’mon we weren’t that bad, were we?” Emily continues.

“Yes, you were irresponsible and dangerous. We are bringing CAPS into this and we are going to work together for O’Drice, no question about it.” With that McVallen swiftly exits.

“Funny how those two words keep popping up around me.” I remark.

“What?”

“Irresponsible and dangerous, I can’t get away from them.”

“Yeah, well maybe we should change.” Emily says glumly.

“Nah, c’mon. Let’s go out.” I tap Emily on the shoulder.

“Where?” She looks up.

“I don’t know, wherever.”

“The Ritz.” Her frown melts into a grin.

“Well, how bad have you messed up this time?” Lizzie (the leader of CAPS the adult version of IMPS).

“It’s ‘badly.’” Jacob corrects.

“This time? You lot messed up majorly last year, do you remember that?” Elijah smugly brings up the time CAPS messed up and IMPS (us) bailed them out.

“You have to be sent on mission to mess them up which from what I’ve heard you haven’t been out for a while.” I finish triumphantly. All they can reply with is sneers. McVallen collects us back in the briefing room and goes over the plan, we (the IMPS) catch her after the briefing. “Colonel, we have proved many times how capable we are as a unit whereas CAPS just seek individual glory. Why aren’t you giving us point on the mission?” I try and persuade McVallen, having been nominated to do so by the rest of them.

“This is your mess and you will have to prove that you can be better before you get to be point.” McVallen says so that CAPS will hear. Then, out of their ear shot, she says, “I couldn’t very well cart them all down here to be back up to you lot. One more thing, when we get back to base, we will have a look at what happened in the crash (if you haven’t already looked at it it’s all over the internet).” With that she leaves us in our ever-increasing confusion.

“What do you think happened?” Emily slides into the seat next to me.

“I don’t know, what did you feel just before it happened?”

“Like a burning sensation, it just abruptly stopped when the light flashed though.”

“Exactly the same as me. This is really weird.” I rake my brain for anything unusual I did, then something comes to me. “What were you thinking?”

“Huh?”

“What were you thinking just before it happened?” I reiterate, nervously tapping a pencil on the table.

“Well, I guess…” she tucks her hair behind her ear and moves away in embarrassment, “I was just hoping you’d be alright.”

“Aww, you two are really cute.” Elijah sticks his head in between us.

“Shut up,” Emily shoves his head back.

“Ok, Mum and Dad,” Elijah calls over his shoulder as he runs out the door, I throw my pencil at his back.

“Anyway, I should probably go.” Emily gets up, using her hair as a barrier so I can’t see her face.

I catch her arm and she looks at me with longing eyes, “I was thinking the same thing.”

“Really, you were hoping you would be alright?” She frowns.

“Oh, no, I was hoping you would be alright.” I stress the ‘you’.

“Great.” She rushes out, a new smile on her face and spring in her step.

McVallen has tracked O’Drice to a building off Leicester Square, next to the cinema. CAPS wait below for the all clear to go in whilst we wait on the roof of the cinema, “Well, this is fun.” Elijah says, messing about with a pebble.

“Yeah well let’s just hope it’s not permanent.” I reply, pacing around.

“Captain, do you copy?” McVallen crackles over the radio.

“Yes, sir.”

“CAPS have done it again; I need you to go in through the roof.”

“Will do, sir.” I turn to Elijah, “Well, this is our chance, they’ve messed up again.” I drop down into a deserted corridor and beckon the others in, we move (as instructed) down two flights of stairs and to the opposite side of the building.

“Is it just me, or is this lighting and the corridor as a whole really stereotypical?” Emily looks around.

“What do you mean?” I turn to her.

“Well, it’s low light, there are random clunking sounds and the walls don’t have any paint on them.”

“I am sorry that you don’t like our decorations.” A deep booming voice calls from the end of the corridor we just came from. We all spin on our heels and I walk to the front of the group.

“Do you know where Nelson’s column is, we’re tourists and I think we are a bit lost.” I look around the corridor with disdain. The man only replies with a slight laugh. “What are you doing? Do you need a drink? Or, a pat on the back? You seem to have something stuck in your throat.”

“Very funny, but not as funny as this…” the man pulls out a gun and point it directly at my head, right in between my eyes.

“Jack!” Emily rushes up to me, but I hold her back with an outstretched arm.

In a matter of minutes, we are walked into a windowless room. “You too, eh?” Emily says to CAPS generally. Meanwhile, I catch Lizzie’s eye and nod my head towards the open side of the door. She nods and quietly darts over there, now it’s my turn to do what I can.

“Hi, I was wondering if (as we have all now been captured) if we could see O’Drice or even share a cell with him, if this is a cell.”

“Shut up you.” One of the man’s cockney henchmen leans menacingly towards me.

“Honestly, I have no idea where they get them from.” I say to Emily.

“Oi, I’m warnin’ you.”

“Alright, Mr. Kray.”

“Vat’s it.” He raises his fist.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry.” I repeat, making him hesitate, “Dick Van Dyke.” I laugh. He chases me around the cell until we get back to the half-opened door, I dodge round it and swing it all the way open. He runs full tilt, head first, into it- he staggers back dazed. As the door swings shut, I see Lizzie slip out, Emily has realized what the plan is and melts away I assume following her. Now that my part is done, I’m in a sticky situation. The Cockney with a big red egg in the centre of his forehead and another unspeaking guard grab me and drag me away.

I’m sat in an empty corridor, restrained, for what feels like an eternity. After about 10 minutes, the man and his two henchmen walk out and grab hold of me. They dump me right in front of the door. My face is being mashed into the floor because both my wrists and ankles are bound. Then someone opens the door- hard. All I can feel is a piercing pain in the front of my head, I can feel warm blood running down my cheek.

After I am pushed out of the way, I see a full SWAT team rush in, detain the three men and rush off to clear the building. Unbound, with a big wad of tissue stuck onto my forehead and saturated with blood, I talk to O’Drice. “This is Mr. Kray.” I indicate the one without the lump, “And this is Dick Van Dyke.” I indicate the other (loathing) guard with a big lump on his forehead.

“Ahh, look who it is.” McVallen’s disdainful and confused expression transforms into pure joy- or as joyful as McVallen will ever get. Lizzie leads the rest of CAPS, IMPS and O’Drice down the stairs.

“Jack, what happened?” Emily rushes towards me and inspects my forehead. I wince and McVallen clears her throat.

“I think I can safely declare this operation a success. Debrief will be back in Scotland for now, enjoy London and Jack get that checked out (you might need to wear a hat).”