Ethan Justice: Origins

18: Sunday 25th September, 12:30

OUTSIDE IS OVERCAST with dark and threatening clouds. My room is gloomier and appears smaller than ever. I don't bother turning on the light. The room suits the dark. It hides the stains on the sheets and carpet, the dust on scratched surfaces and flaking yellow paint on the walls. I sip my takeaway coffee from 'The Pit' and grimace as I swallow. It tastes like Olga has pissed in it. I put down the polystyrene cup on the bedside table and sit on the bed, light a Marlboro Red, and take a deep drag to take the taste of the coffee away. It doesn't help.

It was clear that Earthguard had expected me to show up at the Ritz. It had been a trap, plain and simple. Unless...? Could they have been after Varushkin? Or was Varushkin working with Earthguard? Why hadn't the place been swarming with police and agents? One shooter was never going to guarantee my death or capture. It had been close though - too close. There are too many unanswered questions. I am certain of two things: the two Earthguard agents are operating alone and they aren't looking to take me alive. If the agents are isolated then my chances are still good. Everything is not yet lost.

I must have the weapon by the end of tomorrow if my plan is to succeed. I cannot allow uncertainties to get in my way. I will be on a plane to Australia by Tuesday afternoon with my beloved Sasha. I will not fail.

The Russian presents me with a new challenge. According to Christos, Varushkin is a rival pimp. There are very few people who could kill so efficiently while gunfire whistled past their ears. And none of them were pimps. He smells of Russian Special Forces to me. I never saw the blow or even Varushkin, but I did see a floored Christos tugging at the toothbrush lodged deep in his neck. Those guys love their 'use whatever is at hand to kill' shit. Perhaps Varushkin is after the gun too? I have an idea. Maybe Varushkin is the answer.

The more I think about Anorak man, the more I think he is linked to the girl. His disappearance bothers me. He is a loose end. One minute he's in the thick of it and the next he's gone. I remember the expression but not the face as he ran from one car to the next. He was looking for the girl, I'm sure of it. The bond between him and Jones is strong. Perhaps I can use this?

I light up another cigarette while I make a few calls and get the search for Varushkin started. Instinctively, I reach for my coffee and take a big gulp. The cooling liquid tastes worse than before. I spit the mouthful onto the well-worn carpet. It is definitely piss. That bloody cow, Olga.

*

John, Savannah, Johnson and Wilson were on the fourth floor of a seven floor office building directly above Boots The Chemist and directly opposite the shot-out windows of their old suite at the Ritz.

According to Wilson they had cleared out the company that occupied the space the minute they left John and Savannah alone last night. John silently considered the power and influence necessary to make such a large-scale upheaval possible, especially in the middle of the night during a weekend. Whatever Earthguard was, it carried some serious clout.

The agents had taken residence in the corner office, which had given them the best line of sight into the junior suite and had kept tabs on them ever since. Activating the watch had made no difference. Two single mattresses and a few half-empty takeaway cartons littered the mottled grey, carpet-tiled floor. A telescope on a tripod pointed across the road. John pressed his eye to the telescope. Despite the curtains being closed he could make out several red blobs of colour moving behind the curtains. Each blob had a number in a circle that followed it around.

"Is this infrared?" John asked. "And what's with the numbers?"

Johnson explained. "It's an advanced form of infrared. It can go much deeper than the standard variety. The numbers are the approximate weights of anything warm-blooded it picks up. It's how I knew I wouldn't shoot you or Savannah."