The Samsara Project by David Burgess (ebook reader screen .txt) 📖

for the high ground. Taking off his shoes he had crept upstairs in the hope of finding either an open window or one that would open. The house though was against him and he found it almost impossible to make a move of any sort without one or more floorboard creaking, each instantly giving away his exact position. His only hope was to barricade himself into one of the bedrooms. As he shut the bedroom door behind him Geoffrey pulled the double bed across the room and pushed it hard up against the door. He then started to move the chest of drawers, throwing them on top of the bed to give it additional weight. He saw the door move as he was sliding one of the free standing wardrobes towards the door. Jacqueline tried to force it open but she was no match though for the weight piled up behind it. Geoffrey was about to push the second wardrobe on top of the bed when two things happened almost at the same time. Firstly two bullets smashed through the bedroom door and embedded themselves into the wall behind Geoffrey, whilst they had just been blind shots through the door they had the desired effect as Geoffrey pressed himself against the floor. Then he heard a tremendous crash from downstairs as the glass in the front door disintegrated into a thousand pieces. Pats baseball bat had done a good job. Pat and Andrew had just started to run into the house when Jacqueline started to run down the stairs, seeing the two men she fired twice. Pat felt the wind from the first bullet as it flew past him. He heard a gasp as Andrew spun around and crumpled onto the pavement. Pat had no idea where the second bullet had gone. Pat wanted to go and see to Andrew but his attention had to be fully focused on the advancing Jacqueline Dupree. In a split second Pat decided the best form of defence was attack, he let out a blood curdling Scottish warrior scream and ran towards Jacqueline, as he got near her she raised the pistol and pointed it straight at him. At the same time Pat swung the baseball bat. The bat hit Jacqueline firmly on her arm. The pistol cracked as another bullet was fired but it was too late her aim was completely off as the bottom half of her arm dangled limply, the shattered bones sticking out through the torn flesh.
Jacqueline screamed and barged her way past Pat towards the smashed front door, her strength taking him by surprise. She had managed to keep hold of the pistol with her other hand and had it held up as she ran out of the front door. Outside was a sight she had never expected. When Andrew and Pat had received Geoffrey’s call they had called 999 and reported shots fired at Jacqueline’s address. The Mets armed unit had arrived at the scene, and sealed it off, in less than five minutes. Four armed police marksmen all had their weapons trained on Jacqueline Dupree as she ran out of the house. Andrew still lay still on the ground. Outside of the secure zone a paramedic vehicle, with blue lights flashing, was waiting to get him as soon as it was safe to do so.
“Do not move and do exactly as we say,” crackled a voice from a bullhorn. “Place the pistol on the ground then stand up with your hands raised in the air where we can clearly see them.”
Jacqueline looked at the officers and weighed up her options. The speed she moved took one of the officers by surprise, considering the injury she has to her arm. In a split second Jacqueline raised the pistol and had just got the first officer in her sights. At the same instant two of the other officers each fired twice. They we in almost perfect unison as the four individual sounds merged into two loud cracks. Four bullets hit Jacqueline in the middle of her chest; the force lifted her off her feet as she was thrown backwards towards the door she had just come out of. She crashed onto the stone step, the back her head splitting like a coconut as it took most of the impact. It made no difference to Jacqueline as she was dead long before landing on the ground.
Two of the officers ran towards her, their weapons still trained on her body. The first officer checked for a pulse, there was none to find. The other two officers had run over to Andrew. The bullet had taken a channel of bone from the side of his skull as it flew past him. The impact had knocked him out but apart from a very bad headache and some painful skin grafts to the sides of his head he would be fine. Geoffrey had pulled away the barricades and had run downstairs just in time to hear the police marksmen fire their weapons. He had taken refuge with Pat in the kitchen at the back of the house. The two men stayed there until police officers came in and gave the all clear.

Chapter 19

John heard the keys turn in the lock of his cell door. It was three minutes past seven as PO Caulfield walked into John and Rigger’s cell. He looked at his clip boarded list, “CT67645 Reynolds.”
“Here boss,” replied John.
“You’re scheduled to appear before Southern Counties magistrates this morning at ten o’clock. Transport will be in forty five minutes and you will be escorted to reception to collect your clothes in half an hour. Be ready.”
“Yes boss.”
The cell door was pulled to and the locking mechanism automatically did its job.
“Good luck John, I hate to say this but I hope I don’t see you again, and if I ever do I don’t want it to be in here.”
John started to shave, “I appreciate the sentiment Rigger but I don’t see what has changed in the past week. My solicitor is confident I’ll get bail today, but that’s part of his job, to make me feel as though I’m going to get something out of today. If I’m being honest I’m not too confident so don’t give the bunk away to anyone else just yet.”“I’ll make out to the screws that you’re coming back, that way I’ll get double rations tonight. “I appreciate the thought. Listen, in case I don’t come back I like to.”
Rigger stopped him from saying anything else. “This is bangup; it’s what we do to survive. So don’t you be going all soft on me now, you’ve a reputation to keep up.”
“Just don’t tell the magistrate that or I’ll defiantly be back.”
John finished shaving, had as good a wash as was possible and put on his day to day prison clothes. Rigger handed him a fresh cup of tea. “You never know when you’ll be able to get another drink today. Remember; never refuse food or a drink.”
“Thanks Rigger,” John took a drink of the tea, “perfect.”
John heard the keys slide into the lock, then turn. The door swung open. “Let’s go Reynolds, can’t keep the driver waiting.”
John shook Riggers hand and then, for what he hoped would be the last time, walked out of his cell. In the reception area John quickly changed into the court clothes that had been brought in for him by his solicitor. Martin had chosen a conservative dark blue two piece suit, a crisp white shirt with a two tone blue tie. Black socks and lace up brogue shoes completed the ensemble.
“Must be your lucky day,” said the duty officer, “you’ve got the bus to yourself, no one screaming, shouting or banging on the walls. I’d make the most of the peace if I were you.”
“I’ll bear that in mind boss,” replied John.
The duty reception officer and the wagon crew exchanged documentation handing responsibility for John from the prison to them. Until papers were exchanged and signed in the court they were totally responsible for keeping the public safe from John.
Despite being locked inside a cubicle John was relieved when the wagon passed the ‘welcome to HMP Outcross’ sign. He was pleased to be back on the main roads, he looked up, through the darkened widow. For the first time in a week he could look at the sky, the grass, trees and people. Until now John had never realised how important it was to be able to see people, they didn’t even have to be doing anything in particular. The cubicle was far from comfortable but John didn’t mind, he was just enjoying the ride and the scenery.
HMP Outcross was not a local prison, it was on the outskirts of a small town and that meant part of the route was country, John was actually looking forward to that part of the journey. He vowed that once this mess was sorted out that he would never again take anything for granted. The wagon passed a sign that read ‘London forty nine miles’. John worked that out to be a good hour to hour and a half away, especially in the rush hour traffic they would come across later on.
John felt, more than heard the bang from the front of the wagon, it then veered sharply over to the right. John knew the front right tyre had punctured, thankfully it was on a quiet country road and no cars had been coming towards them on the opposite side of the road. The driver braked hard causing the wagon to screech to a halt. Geoffrey head banged against the side window as he was thrown around inside the cubicle. He felt his head, there was a small amount of blood from a cut on his forehead and his left shoulder was aching. Less than ten seconds after the wagon at suddenly stopped there was a muffled noise from the back quickly followed a loud ear splitting explosion. Smoke started to seep under the cubical door. John was trapped; the door was locked and could only be opened from the outside. The smoke was getting thicker, he started to bang against the darkened security glass but it was useless. John’s first thought was fire, and that scared him at any time, but trapped inside a small cubicle it was terrifying. There was another muffled explosion, this time a lot closer. Almost immediately after the cubicle door was torn away. Standing the other side were two men, dressed from head to foot in black, their faces covered with black respirators. “Are you Reynolds,” said the first. John nodded, the smoke making it impossible for him to speak. John looked at the black figures and his mind raced back to when Tracy had been shot. “This time they’ve come back for me,” he thought.
“The fist figure grabbed him by his arm, “Let’s move, quickly,” he shouted.
Before John realised what was happening he was pulled out if the cubicle and pushed towards the second figure. Outside the wagon were two others identically dressed figures. John was manhandled out of the wagon into the grip of the figures three and four. Number three quickly covered John’s head with a black cloth bag, it was impossible to see through and he started to feel disorientated. John half ran and was half dragged to the first or two waiting Range Rovers, each with their engines running. The doors were all open and John was thrown onto the back seat. Seconds later he then felt a stabbing pain in his thigh, realising he was being drugged John tried to move but his muscles simply failed to do what he wanted them to. Within five seconds John Reynolds was lying unconscious across the back seat. One of the figures