The Samsara Project - David Burgess (early reader books .txt) 📗

yes I did arrange for the first ambulanced to collect Tracy. I have made arrangements already for you to see her next Friday afternoon in Liverpool.”
“That’s the day of John’s second court appearance, under the circumstances I would like to be there.”
“I’m sorry but I do need you to be in Liverpool next Friday. Sorry to be a bit vague but you’ll understand at the time.”
DCS Hughes did not look very happy; he was the one who was used to giving the orders, not taking them, especially from someone he hardly knew.
Peter understood that this was a lot for him to take in. He continued after taking a drink of coffee, “It appears that John stumbled across an ultra top secret government programme that was inadvertently related to the London murders. John and his friends had managed to almost piece together one of the UK and Americas most confidential and controversial programmes, this programme so secret that its existence could never be hinted at, let alone revealed and that was the problem. John is a journalist, and I’m sure you’ll agree, a very good one. He is not the kind of person not to get to the bottom of a story.”
“Just how do you fit into all of this then?” asked DCS Hughes.
“I’m the project director and have been since its inception seven years ago.” replied Peter
“So the university research lab is a front.”
“The work there is genuine but I suppose you’re right.”
DCS Hughes face started to redden and his voice changed. It was no longer friendly or interested in what Peter was saying. “Then you are directly responsible for the murder of those women in London, the attack on Pat, John’s trumped up charges and the shooting of my secretary.”
Peter was taken aback by the outburst of temper from the Chief Superintendent, “No, I’m not. The truth is a faction within the HSS knew about the project and its potential for misuse. Their job, after all, was to protect the project at all costs. I’m sure you are aware of the saying about how ultimate power corrupts.”
“Go on, I’m listening,” said DCS Hughes.
“This faction signed a pact with the devil, in this case high ranking, but ultimately corrupt, officers within the Defence Department and the Pentagon. They developed their own agenda, part of which resulted in the deaths of two women in London and the possible deaths of up to eight more, including Tracy.”
“I’m curious, you’ve mentioned this ‘project’ a couple of times but haven’t actually said what it is.”
“I’m sorry but that will have to wait until next Friday as well. It something you have to see more of than be told about.”
Peter stood up and held out his hand, “I’m so glad we had this conversation, I’ll e-Mail you the details for next Friday to your office.”
DCS Hughes stood up to leave.
“One last thing, what we have spoken about today is classified. I know you meet with John’s friends but you can’t talk to them about anything we have spoken about this morning. I know it may be difficult but they will have to stay in the dark for now.”
DCS Hughes did not look too happy about that but he was a professional so just nodded.

John had gotten through his first twenty four hours in prison without too much difficulty. He had not ventured much out of his cell in that time and in a strange way being inside the cell felt safe, it was like a comfort blanket to him. John knew though that he would have to go out amongst the general population before too long, if only to get his meals from the servery or to have a shower.
John had kept himself clean by having regular washes at the small bowl in the cell but no matter how often he did that he knew he would only feel really clean once he had a shower. “No time like the present,” he said to himself, “may as well get this over with.” John started to get together the small washing and shaving kit that he had been provided with. He laid everything out on the top bunk; towel, soap, razor. Compared to his usual washing routine it was a very small number of items he would be taking with him. “At least the water will be hot,” he thought.
Rigger was watching him, “want me to come with you?” he asked.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” replied John, “I’ve got to do this myself, you understand.”
Rigger did understand, he may not have agreed but he did understand.
John wrapped everything together, tucked the bundle under his arm and walked out of the cell towards the shower block. John’s cell was towards the end of a long run of cells, the shower block was at the other end meaning John had to walk past most of the cells in the block. Almost all the cell doors were open and as he walked past each one he was aware of the eyes that were looking at him, the owners of each wondering who this fresh faced new boy was and what was he in for.
When John reached the shower block he was pleased to see that there was only one other person in there and he was just finishing. John went into the changing area, placed his clothes and towel on the bench seat and went into the shower area. For security reasons there was no privacy within this area, even from the wing landing as the walls separating the landing from the shower area were only four feet high. John was not used to showering in view of everyone so he found what he considered to be the most private area of the block. The water was more warm than hot and the water spray had two positions, on or off. Home it wasn’t but it did the job. He was just about to finish when two inmates walked into the area. One stood to his left, the other to his right.
“Well pretty boy, who are you then?” asked the first.
John ignored him and went to walk back to the changing area. The inmate held his arm out to block his way.
“I was just asking a question,” he said.
“Yes, the man was only asking a question,” said the second inmate, “and its bad manners not to answer.”
In his work John had come across characters like these two on a number of occasions. He had always hated dealing with them but when he had needed information sometimes it was the only way. The one thing John had learned over the years was to stand his ground and not show that he felt intimidated by someone else’s actions.
“You’re in my way,” said John in a quiet voice that was almost, but not quite a whisper.
“So I am,” said the first inmate, “So what? And I still want an answer.”
John’s right hand shot up and quickly grabbed the wrist of the first inmate. He spun the inmate around until he arm was behind his back. John then jerked his arm up his back. The inmate tried to stand on his toes to ease the pressure in his arm and also to stop some of the pain he was feeling. It was no use though; John’s height was too great for that to be able to make any difference. John had already decided on his story should something like this happen. John gritted his teeth and for extra effect jerked the arm up a bit further then spun the inmate around and banged his face against the tiled wall. The inmate let out a yell as his nose cracked and started to bleed heavily. Inside John felt sick but was determined not to show it. “I hope you and you’re mate are better at listening than you are at trying to make friends,” said John, talking through his teeth in a low but menacing voice, “not that it’s any of your business but I’m in here for murder. My girlfriend, sorry ex girlfriend, thought it would be fun to go out with someone else at the same time as going out with me. I didn’t, so I shot her. Not once but twice, in the chest. Close up and personal.”
John then pulled the inmate back from the wall and pushed him towards the second. The two collided together; neither spoke or made any move. John stood over the two of them, “Make sure this place is cleaned up before you leave and keep your mouths shut about our little chat because if I hear anything about this from anyone, and I do mean anyone, then there’s a very good chance that one of you will be found swinging from the widows bars with a neatly written note on the bed. Get my drift?”
They nodded. John turned around, walked slowly over to the changing area, wrapped the towel around his waist then calmly picked up his clothes and walked out. John was surprised to see Rigger standing just outside. “I’m impressed,” he said to John.
John looked over towards him, said nothing and walked back to the cell. He could feel the eyes watching him as he walked past the cells. John’s composure lasted just long enough to get him back to the sanctuary of his own cell. Once inside he ran over to the toilet area, dropped to his knees and vomited into the bowl. John could feel himself retch long after there was nothing left to bring up. Standing up he ran some cold water and rinsed his face. The bravado had now vanished and he was shaking heavily from head to foot. He grabbed hold of the bunk bed frame to hold himself up.
Rigger walked up to John and gave him a congratulatory pat on the back. “Had to be done John,” he said, “now everyone knows where they stand. Not pleasant but in here, necessary. It’s the law.”

* * * *

Geoffrey was with Pat in his hospital room. Pat was feeling quite upbeat after being told earlier in the day that provided he had a good night then he could go home in the morning. What ever happened Pat was determined he was going to have a good night. Geoffrey had been talking about the Magistrates decision after John’s very brief court appearance. Pat was questioning the marital status of the magistrate’s parents when there was a knock on the door.
“Yes,” shouted Pat.
It opened and Andrew came in to join his two friends.
“I found it,” he said excitedly, walking towards a spare chair at the side of the bed, “I knew if I kept looking for long enough then I’d have to find one.”
Pat and Geoffrey looked at each other, then over to Andrew. “Found what?” enquired Pat.
“A photograph,” replied Andrew, “a photograph of Jacqueline Dupree. I’ve been searching through archives and eventually I found this.” He handed a copy of a photograph to each of them. It was a typical early Victorian head and shoulders shot of a young woman. “This was taken only a few weeks before she was killed, at least now we know what she looks like. We only guessed before about her not being at the funeral, now we can find out for sure.”
“I’ll check the pictures as soon as I get back to the office,” said Geoffrey, “if we can find out what names she’s using now then there might be a chance of tracking her down. Then we can let the police know what we have found and they can do the rest.”
“That’s only a part of the problem,” said Pat, “don’t forget we still have