Ethan Justice: Origins

25: Monday 26th September, 12:15

A MINUTE GREEN light pulsed beneath the centre of Johnson's watch face, alerting him that a sound transmission was being received from Smith.

Distracted by phone calls and high speed driving, he had no way of knowing how long he had been oblivious to the flashing alert. He twisted the winder back a notch, pairing the Bluetooth device with the car's loudspeaker. At first there was only silence, but upon turning up the speaker, he realised that the noises were similar to the ones that surrounded him. It was the sound of traffic but in a built up area with car horns and revving engines going nowhere fast. He couldn't risk making verbal contact with Smith via the watch. For all he knew Fisher or Wilson or both could be listening in.

He checked the proximity of Smith to the watch he had planted inside the briefcase. They were no more than a quarter of a mile apart, and the distance was reducing. If he didn't get there soon, his death-defying driving would have been in vain. He activated the vibration on Smith's watch once more. If Smith still had the watch, he might just take the hint.

*

John Smith, Savannah Jones and Gregory Fisher approached the row of glass doors which formed the main entrance to Twickenham station. It was cool and breezy. The clouds above were thick, high and white, suggesting little chance of rain or sunshine. With the morning commute to work over, few bodies entered or emerged through the doors. John jerked his arm as the vibrating Rolex once again caught him unawares. Bloody watch was going to give him a coronary.

"What's up?" Savannah asked as they entered the quiet station through the glass doors.

"Doesn't she know?" Fisher said. John almost believed there was genuine sadness in Fisher's tone, but he was past trying to rationalise the minds of others. For whatever reason, good or bad, the ex-soldier was nuts, and John's only concern was to save Savannah and himself.

"Is not her business," John said dismissively, longing for the time when he could explain the remark to Savannah. If they were meeting Wilson, then surely it must be Johnson setting off his watch. If so, Johnson should have worked out that the three of them were together and were on their way to meet Wilson. Maybe the agent was close and trying to signal his arrival? He looked around, keeping his head forward and allowing his eyes to wander, but there was no sign of the tall man in the distinctive dark coat. Then it struck him: Johnson wanted information. John stopped and tapped Fisher on the shoulder.

"Fisher, tell Savannah what you plan for weapon."

Fisher snarled his annoyance. He was not pleased at the halt in their progress. He ignored John's request. "Do we have to catch a train from here?"

"No. The weapon is in the station. Tell Savannah about Whitehall."

"Where in the station?"

"I don't know. I'm following Savannah." John wanted to mention Wilson to let Johnson know that they were meeting his partner, but he thought that Fisher's surprise at the sight of Wilson might be to their advantage. "Where is it Savannah?"

As they passed through the door in single file, Savannah stopped and turned to the two men behind her, a look of annoyance on her face. "Keep up, boys, and all will be revealed." John wished he felt as confident as Savannah acted.

*

The small square lounge was littered with beer cans, crisp packets and old celebrity magazines. Cigarette smoke engulfed the top third of the room. Wilson fanned the air with his hand as he walked in. He placed the two briefcases down by the side of the sofa. The old cathode ray tube television blared out tuneless music at a volume meant only for the hard of hearing. Wilson moved a box of Frosties to make room to sit on the sofa where the air was more breathable.