Crash Course by Derek Fee (freenovel24 .TXT) 📗

Doc’s eyes opened wide. “Jesus Christ, the poor man.” The day suddenly didn’t feel so sunny.

“He cut them down but they were both dead,” Davenport continued. “While he was still standing over them, a couple of coppers appeared at his door. His wife had driven across town to one of her friends who lived in an apartment block. She calmly asked for a coffee and while her friend was in the kitchen, she went out through the living room window. Splattered herself all over the pavement.”

Doc put his head in his hands. “I’ve seen more than enough horror during my life but I can’t even imagine the impact of finding my kids strung up like that. Then his wife commits suicide. It’s too much for one man to take. Poor bastard.”

“That’s the story,” Davenport said. “A week later he put the three of them in the ground but I don’t think that he’s ever forgiven himself. It unhinged his mother but he seemed to be able to hold it together. He threw himself into his work. That’s why he’s the best bloody undercover officer I’ve ever known.”

Doc looked up into Davenport’s emotionless face. “When I told my colleagues that I would be working with the famous Mark Kane some of them weren’t so enthusiastic. Rumour had it that the man was good but that he had little or no regard for his own life. Now I understand why. But you know that he doesn’t care whether he lives or dies. Don’t you?”

Davenport’s face remained expressionless.

“That’s what you count on when you put him out there. This is a shitty business. I wouldn’t care to be you. You don’t give a damn about Kane and that means that you probably don’t give a damn about me. You only care about the success of the mission.” He stood up and walked down the stone steps towards the keep of the fort.

Davenport followed him.

Doc stopped at the bottom of the steps “You remind me of one of those Sinbad the Sailor stories. Sinbad meets an old man by the side of a river. The old man asks Sinbad to carry him across. Sinbad agrees and the old man wraps his legs around Sinbad’s neck and sits on his shoulders. When they reach the other side, Sinbad asks the old man to get down but the old man refuses. His legs are so strongly wrapped around Sinbad’s neck that he can’t remove them. So he must carry the old man around on his shoulders. Well, that old man is you, Superintendent Davenport, so why don’t you get your legs from around Kane’s neck?”

“Don’t call me again unless you have something to report on the operation,” Davenport said curtly. “I’ve been trained to accept that the end justifies the means. Everyone who becomes a copper must accept that we’re expendable as long as we put the villains away. Grow up or quit the force. But don’t waste my time again.” He strode in the direction of his car.

Chapter Sixteen

Sorrento, Italy

Now I can die, Kane thought as he smiled and looked across the Bay of Naples at the great Italian city nestling at the foot of Vesuvius. Darkness was falling and he watched as the lights of Naples gradually flickered into life like a line of white and orange fireflies dancing their way along the rugged coast. He was standing on the second-floor balcony of the Sorrento Palace Hotel where the circus which was the Offshore Powerboat Championship was gathered for the first race of the season. He wasn’t alone on the balcony. Assorted glitterati adorned every nook and cranny of the giant marble edifice set into the hills above the famed town of Sorrento. He sipped his glass of sparkling wine and glanced around him. Not the sort of people you’d run into in the local boozer, even on a Saturday night. While the main competition of the week would be fought out by the thirty or so powerboats on the European circuit, there was a secondary competition among the camp followers as to who could dress the most expensively. Uncle Tom had ensured that his wardrobe would be up to the rigours of the season. The old Yorkshireman had arrived in Falmouth before their departure for Italy and taken Kane on a clothes-buying spree in Truro. It felt like old times. Kane was dressed in what could comfortably be called drug-chic; a blue crew-neck Armani tee shirt beneath a cream cotton jacket, and a pair of Hugo Boss blue jeans, with his bare feet stuffed into a pair of Sebago deck shoes. It was the kind of outfit that could grace either a powerboat driver or a drug dealer. The only features missing were the gold chains and the designer watch that weighed two kilos.

The past three weeks had been a grind as David had worked him and Morweena until every bone in their bodies ached. They had crossed and re-crossed Falmouth Bay dozens of times in order to give him more and more experience at the wheel of the fifty-foot powerboat. By the end of the second week, he had attained a level of familiarity with the boat which he hadn’t believed possible on his first outing. During the later runs, he really felt at one with the powerful machine, reacting instinctively to its flights through the air and controlling it easily on its return to earth. David had been a slavedriver but he had been a more than willing slave. As his ability had progressed, so had the speed at which he was permitted to run the boat. He had never experienced anything to compare with the thrill of racing flat out. The training period had been short but he was confident that he was not far from being a fully-fledged powerboat racer – he was about to find out.

“Fantastic sight.” Doc stood at his arm, beer in hand. he was kitted out in a dark blue Penhalion team sweatshirt and