Ethan Justice: Origins

24: Monday 26th September, 11:35

AFTER PICKING UP the original prototype from the lab in Kingston, Wilson had driven to Teddington on a hunch. Or was it a hint from the heavens? Either way, his plan had hit a bump in the road. At the garden centre in Teddington, Wilson had recovered the briefcase containing the latest prototype from where he had hidden it during the night. Fisher had not collected the gun.

Nobody batted an eyelid as he shifted four heavy bags of fertilizer to reveal the case underneath. Both identical briefcases were now ensconced in the back of the Mondeo. He guessed that only one of two things could have happened. Either Fisher suspected a set up or Fisher's sister had not passed on the coded message. All SAS troops knew the code, and if he had received the message, deciphering the code would have been straightforward. How was he going to get in contact now?

The road back to Twickenham was busy, and Wilson tuned the radio to a religious channel. There were some fairly mixed-up callers on the show, but most of them were just after attention and were not real believers like him. He was amazed at just how calm he felt despite the problems he was experiencing. Julie had been right all along. God came along when you least expected him. As he hummed along to a well-known hymn whose words escaped him, he was struck by a thought: What if Fisher had turned up at the office in Twickenham?

He grabbed Johnson's phone from his pocket and called Justice Investigations.

*

Whenever remotely possible, Johnson weaved the silver BMW in and out of every available space of the M40. Angry motorists flashed, hooted, shook fists and some even opened windows and shouted obscenities which were lost in the air behind him. He pictured an unknown but severely bad-tempered controller at his termination debriefing. First things first, though.

With his partner's watch and mobile phone off the Earthguard grid, Johnson had no way of locating Wilson. His last known location was Kingston upon Thames, but if he was hiding, there were plenty of ways he could have disguised his position. The positioning systems of the phones and watches were for an agent's safety but easily adapted to deception purposes. If Wilson had made contact with Fisher, then the weapon may soon be in the hands of a man capable of anything.

Surely Wilson would not allow the death of innocents? Johnson had to assume the worst and go after the weapon. All he knew for certain was that John Smith and the gun were both in Twickenham, not more than half a mile apart. Wilson and Fisher could be with them, or not. He had no way of knowing for sure. The weapon, with its potential for death and destruction, must be his first port of call. Everything revolved around Bradshaw's invention, and he doubted that its death toll was even close to being over.

Johnson's mobile rang and instantly switched to Bluetooth, which was just as well because at over a hundred and forty miles an hour, he needed both hands on the steering wheel. It had to be Wilson. Finally, some sense to all of this.

"Wilson?" said the loud speaker.

Johnson recognised the uptight tones of Major Harris.

"Harris, what's up?"

"Johnson? I was calling the number your partner left me?"

"He's off the grid. You got something?"

There was a lengthy silence. There was no love lost between the two men, but Johnson could not afford to antagonise the Major.

"Look, Major, I know we didn't really hit it off last night. I can be a huge pain in the ass, but we've got problems, and I don't know for sure what's going on." Johnson swerved onto the hard shoulder to undertake traffic in the fast lane. A lorry driver sounded his horn and stuck up two fingers at Johnson. "If you know anything that can help me, I'll happily kiss your ass the next time we meet."