The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 1004 by Angharad Copyright © 2010 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

I stored the illegal firearm in my knicker drawer, wrapped up in an old tee shirt. Whether it would work or not, I had no idea, but having it in the house made me feel safer–not something I’d have subscribed to a while ago. I also checked out my compound bow and my quiver, I had about ten arrows. All were target arrows but with that bow, could make a nasty dent in anyone they happened to hit.

I was geared up for a fight if necessary, but my mind was diverted to more immediate matters when a police car came hurtling up the drive and an officer ran up to the door.

“Have you found Simon,” I asked him, having almost fallen down the stairs in my haste to open the door.

“Are you Lady Cameron?”

“Yes,”

“Can you come with me, madam?”

“I grabbed my bag and shouted to Tom to keep an eye on the kids.”

Then just before I got in his car, I asked to see his warrant card.”

“But I’m in uniform, madam.”

“Please humour me, I’ve been kidnapped by bogus police once before.”

“Here you go,” he pushed his card into my hand and it looked genuine.

“Thank you, where are we going?”

“Central police HQ as far as I know.”

“Any news on my husband?”

“I dunno, Lady Cameron, I’ve not heard anything, but that isn’t always surprising. Hang on we’re in a hurry.” With that he switched on the blues and twos and we screamed through the streets into the town centre.

It was verging on a white knuckle ride and I will happily admit I was scared throughout. I went into the reception area and a woman PC asked if I was Lady Cameron and led me away through one of those key pad doors and up some stairs to a large office.

A tall jovial, red faced man looked up as I entered, “Lady Cameron, I presume?” he extended his hand, “Severus Wheatland, how d’ya do?”

I shook the proffered hand which was like a shovel compared to my daintier puddy. “Sorry, but I presume you were around before Harry Potter?” he looked about forty.

“Yes, it’s an old family name, trust me to get lumbered with it. My friends call me Sevvy.”

“Cathy,” I replied. “I’m still not sure why special branch are involved?”

“I can’t tell you everything as it’s very sensitive, but if I mentioned that the Russian ambassador is also missing, I think you’ll understand better.”

“Did you find anything from the phone call?”

“No, they were all gone, but we did pick up on a mobile phone message and raided that address, where four people were shot. I’m afraid I’ll need you to look at the deceased to see if your hubby’s amongst them.”

“Is that police marksmen or the SAS?”

“I’m not at liberty to say, but I can tell you it wasn’t the police.”

“I believe at the Iranian embassy siege they shot one bloke twenty eight times, I hope my Simon hasn’t been shot like that.”

“I don’t know, they’re making the bodies presentable so if you could come with me, I hope we can deal with this bit first. I was led out to a car and we drove at speed to an industrial estate and into an unlisted factory.

We hardly spoke throughout the drive and my stomach was churning–what if the blackness I picked up for Simon was this–his imminent demise? I felt quite sick.

We viewed the bodies and I was mightily relieved to discover none of them were Simon, one of them was a woman–a pretty one, aged about thirty, her blonde tresses were flecked with blood and I noticed a wound to her neck, presumably the fatal shot. I wondered if it was the woman with whom I’d sparred on the phone. I felt sick and had to rush outside where I spewed up my lunch all over a rose bush.

“We think one is the missing Russian dignitary, but none is your husband?”

I shook my head, “Was that the woman I spoke to?”

“I have no idea, my dear Cathy, but I suppose she could have been.”

I threw up again, so obviously my tough talking was just that–I had no stomach for all this violence any more, assuming I’d ever had it in the first place. “Can I go home now?”

“I suppose so, but I want an officer with you at all times.”

“Will he be armed?”

“Yes.”

“Look when this happened before they killed them and left me alone.”

“I suppose you’d prefer it if we just gave you a machine gun to protect yourself?”

“I don’t know.”

“I hear you’re quite useful with a Kalashnikov?”

“Not really, but there are times when I do wonder if I should invest in one.”

“No, then we’d have to arrest you for illegal possession of a firearm.”

“But if it’s known I’m at risk, why can’t I get some sort of emergency licence?”

“And we find you shot the postman.”

“Well if I did it would be the guy who keeps delivering next door’s stuff to us.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“It’s half a mile away.”

“Ah, maybe you could claim provocation?”

“Much more of this and it could be insanity.”

“Come come, I’d heard you aristocrats were made of sterner stuff?”

“I’m probably the exception that proves the rule.”

“Oh,” he shrugged, “not from what I’ve heard.”

“Why can’t people leave me in peace to live my life–I don’t interfere with them?”

“Alas, I think some have a grudge against the bank, or the UK or perhaps even, an imagined slight against you personally.”

“I thought that had been resolved, the scrap we had before.”

“Apparently not–some of these people have very long memories and very short tempers. Not a good combination in people with guns.”

“So why aren’t you lot picking them up when they come into the country?”

“Who says either we or MI5 don’t pick them up?”

“So how come they got Simon?”

“They changed targets at the last minute, they were apparently going to hit the Governor of the Bank of England.”

“Oh my goodness, why?”

“I think because he has bank in his title.”

“Gee whizz, these guys are dangerous because they’re so amateurish.”

“That’s a good point, if they were ex army or KGB, they’d have far more idea. I think they’d been watching Simon for a while and he was vulnerable driving down from London. They had a bogus police car and pulled him over–we have it on motorway camera. He was taken away in the bogus police car, which we found a couple of days later burnt out. It’s quite vexing.”

Vexing! I can think of a few choice words and that ain’t amongst ‘em.

They ushered me back to the car and were taking me back to the central police station when they got a call over the radio that something was happening elsewhere. Ten minutes later, after another blue light dash, I found myself sat in a police car outside Tom’s farmhouse.

A young officer briefed us. “They shot in in two 4x4s and rounded up all the occupants. We saw at least four gunmen.”

“There are six kids, plus a teenager and an old man in there,” I gasped.

“Where’s the teenage girl?”

“Still at the hair salon where she works on a Saturday.”

“The other woman went off in a Fiesta.”

“That was Stella, she’d be going to collect Julie.”

“Make sure it doesn’t come back and interrupt things,” said Wheatland to the young officer, who nodded and went off to talk on his radio.

“What do we do now?” I asked.

“We wait,” said Wheatland.