Peter - Chapter 25

Peter - Chapter 25
It would be a good three hours before dawn broke as Lipton captained his luxury yacht up the Welsh coast. Andy and Harry had found a bedroom below deck to catch up after her noble voluntary time with the messiah had seperated them a while. Once the group all felt confident they'd twoked the yacht successfully, Lipton began to see how the craft performed. Christ returned from rummaging below proudly returning with two crates of Crystal. Lipton smiled at the son of God. Together they had pulled off something to be proud of. They could return to Peter and the Coven in glory. If ever champagne was appropriate it was now.
Christ: "Come the fuck up on deck! We are three hours unpestered from point of theft. We've two crates of top notch bubbly and Liptons just about to see how fast this bitch can go! We've done the job, let's make merry!"
Corks popped like bullets as the holy lamb of god passed a bottle first to Lipton who drank near half down in a single draught. Andy and Harry having reconsumated their union came from below on to the deck. Christ handed each a bottle as they emerged. Studying the navigation instruments Lipton kept them a steady twelve miles from shore, the seas were calm. Andy took Christ aside. Best sort any issues out before they could grow. Both were aware that only a unified team could pull this off. Lipton glanced across. He'd guessed the basics and wanted the men happy. He could see some parameters being set by the Druid. Christ nodded. Looking out to sea he felt the power of controlling such a craft. Above were the stars, below a calm sea. A waxing moon was closing in on full. As the disc of lunar reflected sunlight rose he began to see lines of white around the boat. These he knew must be the eels twisting in sub Aqua play as they gathered in number following their boat. Soon his eyes grew used to the dark waters around them. Thousands of these lines of light could be seen. Andy returned arm in arm with Christ. Thank fuck that's sorted, Lipton thought.
Lipton: "Here! Lads! Look around us. There are hundreds already. Thousands maybe of them."
Andy quickly was able to see. Smiling in pride and joy he began pointing out examples to Christ. Soon all three were mesmerised by this freak of nature. This act of witchcraft, Andy soon corrected. Harry came up and joined them. Christ apologised. She nodded acceptance.
Lipton : "We are the Pied Pipers of fucking Hamlyn! We are the comet whose trail follows. This is so fucking good. Hang on crew, I'm going to give this bitch some fucking welly!"
Andy: "Awesome, eh? See how Jig already begins to form. Charlotte must have summoned up her core further up coast. Soon these congers will be joining up with the mass. You'll love this. Peter had some words with me. About the murders or deaths we caused to gather the pineal glands. I asked him to withhold any judgement till he has seen Jig in all her glory. I can feel her. She is of my own bloodline. And I can feel her ex static rage!" The Druids eyes sparkled with transcendent magic.
Lipton would have to master this boat, yacht, whatever the fuck they were called and he'd not get a better time to do so.
Lipton :"Let's go!" The boat picked up speed quickly. Lipton began cutting deep arcs to the left turning then across to lean deep right as though on a slalom of imaginary points some quarter mile apart. Harry was speechless. Before them, behind them, around them a goddess was forming from the many eels. Briefly she remembered that it was a hunger for her blue blood that drew the creatures. Yet all of them could feel now a part of a thing so much greater. As though they were aspects of the goddess like the eels. Lipton was buzzing with excitement. Drinking deep from his bottle then casting it over in to the sea.
Lipton :"Jesus Christ! Let there be light!"
Christ usually loathed showing off any powers he had but even the messiah was caught up in the sublime power of the moment. Standing up he walked to the boats tail end. Raising his hands to the sky he drew down divine light to illuminate the sea behind them. White light of a purity no one there had witnessed before picked out the flicking silver lines as eels shifted and turned at speed following them. Their white under bellies reflecting his light like a mirror till a million white slivers shimmered in the tail washed waves from the boat. Harry walked up and gave the holy twat a peck of forgiveness on his cheek. The son of God had to be given praise for involvement in the raising of a deity that would enrage his father. He is a jealous God. They were again a gang. Further still, they led a torrent of serpents. They were the spear head of a goddess. They felt a glory in being. In shared bliss they made their passage up coast toward their friends. Lipton now laughed in mad joy. He was alone now. But he wished Peter could share this moment.

Gwenno was still steaming with Christ over the way he'd sold Iantos van. Peter having dropped off his troupe on the Aberystwyth beach paid a visit to his Welsh traveller mate. The Coven alone, however, stayed there on the sands. Jimmy and Ben had no faith in Mikes boat stealing talents so went off with the musician and Rachel to source a suitable craft. Peter recalled Christ's story when he turned up on the second hill fort. How he had been told to leave by his guests. There sat in his mind a solution to please all. Ianto and Gwenno welcomed in the surprise visitor. Since they'd lost the van, being right out on the coast had meant guests had become rare. They rarely got out of the town either, public transport being so poor these days.
Peter: "After you kicked the holy flyer out he came to Shropshire and found us. Me and Lipton had found ourselves a sanctuary atop a hill fort so remote we thought no one could find us. At the time we weren't too pleased to see the guy. Still, loads has happened since then. We've got a crew together to go to sea with. It's tough to explain quickly. Point is, I can't just dump my van. It's my home. I can't say how long this will take us. But you can use it till I return. One clause, you must take care of Dook like he was your own child. Two clauses, sorry, one of the lasses needs taking back to Clun. There's plenty diesel to get you there and back. She's a sound girl. Powerful witch also so don't take the piss, right? What'd you say?"
Iantos eyes lit up. Since the son of God had robbed his transit they'd been stuck to the house. Festivals were coming up. Both Gwen and the sheep shagger hugged Peter.
Ianto: "You, mate, are a fucking diamond! I'll take care of your van. Dook adds to the pleasure. Having him around will be a bonus. You haven't a clue how happy you've made us today."
Peter: "Just a long term loan, mind. What we are doing could easily be our last stand. Drive me back down the beach, mate. If we do go down in action. Then it's all yours."
The Welsh travellers were overjoyed. Peter had put their theiving guests crimes to bed.
Driving back to the beach Ianto gave Peter a few choice words.
Ianto: "This mission you are on. Lipton and yourself I know can trust each other. I get that the two of you are soft on Jesus. He's a mate of mine too. But please watch the cunt. He's got his talents, of course. But he don't give a fuck, sometimes. During our mushroom marathon he tried it on with every single one of my mates birds. He isn't like us. We know mortality. He can't die. Not for good, anyway. For sure he's a great partner in excess. But sometimes he charges in to things in a way we never would. I've seen him take brothers with him, either on a bender or an adventure. When it goes tits up, there's only one who comes back! Do you hear me? I don't think he can help himself. Still, there's a trail of dead boys he's left behind, lads who thought they could keep up with the cunt. Stretching back two thousand years. Do you get my point?"
Peter knew he was right. From the start, Christ gathered followers. Those apostles that committed to his project, well, we all had heard how amazingly Christ rose again after crucifixion. Not much after Christ's resurrection gets said about the followers. After his death all were hunted down. All killed. Only one had the skills and came back. There was a lot Ianto didn't know about Peter. No time explaining to him now though.
Peter: "I get your drift. But trust me, mate. We aren't as fragile as most. I'm glad you've spoken up, though. We are taking a few novices on this one. I'll be looking out for them all."
The Mercedes pulled to a stop. Peter hugged his friend and watched his van and home carry the lad off back to Gwenno. He hoped he'd gone some distance in putting right the crimes of his immortal mate.
With these thoughts he walked towards the three witches he could now see, sat in a triangle, holding hands, up to some sophisticated meat demonology witchcraft. Charlotte had asked a lot of him on the way up. Whether he could pull it off was yet to be seen. Since his journey into the afterlife he had a new confidence. After she sank back into her trance Peter had planned his shamanic work. Their luggage was a good two hundred yards from the Coven. They'd not want disturbing while at work. Unfolding the inflatable dingy and flattening it out on the sand, best complete the practical essentials first. Attaching the compressed air canisters he relaxed as the rubber monster grew before him. Filled and firm, he upturned it, stabbing its oars deep into the sand to feel secure no freak wind might carry it away. They'd need this dingy to get from the beach to rejoin Ben, Jimmy, Mike and Rachel. Assuming their mission went well. Only then did he unzip his own bag. His recipe was his own concoction, developed over many years. Syrian rue seeds to provide a temporary capacity for the stomachs ingestion of DMT. This would come from mimosa hostilis tea he'd be drinking in fourty five minutes. Two pro lad blotters of 200ug. Lysergamides being his shamanic speciality. Finally, he prepared his glass pipe. 5 bromo DMT is found in sea sponges. This gave a channel to ocean dimensions. Once tripping on the ayuaska simple recipe he preferred and also the pro lad, only then would he take the pipe. He knew his mission.

Jimmy and Ben knew their way to the harbour and led Rachel and her man to check it out. Both drulads were outstanding thieves but boats to the land lubbers all looked alike. Rachel hung back with the boys as Mike walked off alone studying their options. She watched as her new love strolled about the higgeldy piggeldy array of sea vessels. There must have been over fifty boats and yachts moored up. The activity was bustling in the harbour as old sea dogs repaired storm damaged parts, chatting to each other. There were other less used and sea scarred tourist yachts. Expensive toys, status symbols, seldom used. In his younger days, when money still flowed in from the Bellends success, Mike had bought a few such craft. It took awhile to get his eye back in. Much was new but he soon was able to see which were locals that rubbed shoulders on a daily basis and the intrusive trophy vessels that cluttered their work. Tied off at the harbour outposts, among these alien visitors Mike focused on three possibilities. Looking back to Rachel he waved her to come over. Leaving the boys she casually strolled across. Mike began checking out the best option of the three. A crisp blue pompous looking boat that looked barely used. The knot work tieing it off was loose, amateurish. Walking back down the line towards Rachel it was clear that five boats sat between the last scuffed craft and their sky blue target were unoccupied, a safety zone between the object of intended theft and any local, at least for now. The sixth boat in had a seated man with a bushy white unkempt beard, repairing the tackle of his trade, tying torn fishing nets up. Mike met Rachel by this fellows boat and made a display of kissing his girl. They were tourists, looking for their friend.
Moving to the concrete edge Mike called out to the old sea dog, in the voice of an innocent twat,
Mike:"Ahoy, my man? How's the tide?" The fisherman looked up to study the idiot, blind to the obvious state of water all around them.
Seadog: "Two hours will be high tide. Are you lost?"
Mike: "In a way we are. Jeremy invited us to see his pride and joy, the Bluebird."
Sea dog: "Jeremy is he? Tell your friend Jeremy that he's had his boat moored up in Jeths spot for near on a week now. He'd best move it or his Bluebird will be soon gone. Jeth moors there. Since a boy he's moored there. We were out for the mackerel together. Fifteen hours we were gone. Coming in to dock, we were, he's had his moor stolen. I know your Jeremy may be new. He may be ignorant of the offence he's causing. Whatever. You go tell him to shift that thing, ok!"
Mike: "I apologise on his behalf. What's more, I'll ring Jez now, get him to shift it right away."
Rachel passed over her mobile. Mike entered into a fake conversation. Soon this became an argument. Finally some agreement took place. Mike nodded across to Ben and Jimmy.
Mike: "Jeremy is deeply sorry. He's down London however, business call. I explained the situation. He's an idiot, I am sorry. He asked me to sort things out. You'll be rid of the Bluebird in half an hour. My friend is a town type. Your rustic oceanic noble codes are invisible to his clumsy mind."
Sea dog: "Well, that's very good of you lad. You should be fine now. Forecast is fair. No storms to trouble you. What's the name, lad? Just in case he needs to say anything."
Mike: "Bunsens the name, Rupert Bunsen!"
Sea dog: "Fair you go Rupert. Good on you for sorting out your friends mess. I took the land tosser for a woman, if I'm honest. Town folk surely are mysterious ares holes, eh?"
The fisherman returned to his work. Not looking up again. Jimmy and Ben took seconds to spark the engine. The four, once aboard, chugged out of the harbour, heading toward the beach to collect their passengers.

The timing was crucial. First Peter swallowed the four gramme a of Syrian rue. He hoped to see no one on this plane for some time. Removing his shoes he walked the line where sea washed in waves onto sand. His steps punctuated a rhythm that interplayed more complex patterns from the flat drum he often used. Relaxing away from self his chanting grew to a sound wall that soon felt not of his making, instead a planetary cyclic pattern taking away ego. Thirty minutes in he dropped the Pro Lad, a purified synthesis of lysergic acid. Fifteen minutes on he asked in humble prayer for a safe passage and return. The response came from the ocean. Already he heard them singing, far out and faint, but they were awaiting him. The hovering of wings he was prone to feel on the awakening of the ayuaska goddess fluttered above him. From the sky she came. From the sand he felt her entering his feet. The Pro Lad opened the portal to a dimension of beings that over years of tripping was the home to his own protective spirits. Old guardians that assimilated and appeased the goddess he was now a guest of. The rock cliffs he'd set out for had caves where he would soon lay. By now though they weren't caves of rock, but pockets or pods of an organic computer system whose fluid flow now revealed the mandala corridor of fractal lights, a garden of sumptuous growth that opened up revealing the corridor calling him in. She placed him down. Through the immaterial shifting lights and warping gardens he struggled to find his tools. The glass pipe now a crystalline appendage of his body. He gave thanks for the foresight of loading the sphere with the ocean bed DMT. Leaning back she blossomed in cushioned new growth, marrow like beings pulled him gently in. Here his last finger hold on the earth dimension found the lighter, a fire fly nest of hornets returned as a single living flame. The being tickled the sphere and golden rivulets flooded into lakes that rose to a steam within the globe. He inhaled deeply once. The goddess lifted him from his recumbent and temporarily vacated flesh, second inhalation she placed him in position facing deep into the corridor of shifting forms. These last moments he found the goddess who was asked in humble grace by the spirits of the ergotamine beings that were his protectors. The fire flies burned bright as the crystal globe whose golden oceans filled the small world within, before the fire beings dispersed in tiny lights away from their centre in all directions, the third inhalation he held on as his priming completed its programme. The goddess kissed him good bye, good luck and in tender care held a fine line of gossamer that now fused to the back of his skull. An umbilicus to pluck him back should he displease the one he sought to ask favour of. Exhaling a cloud of steam he burst across, he entered at great speed that took him over as his being held together yet structurally fragile in coalescence, only as a particle blur, he rocketed down the corridor. Long ago he could recall the dimension of his birth. A nostalgic scent of childhood dream sleep. But it wasn't his now as the corridor flared and his particles disbanded till there wasn't any peter, now all had once been blended to a singular molecular field, no individuation of seperated aspects, only everything as a whole. The singular mass of shifting colour had no common aspect nor any before. Now all was one. The ocean accepted the new essence that had become blended together. In the blue turbulence that washed off any remnants of solidity. Drifting in to energy waves, jelly forms found a harmonic resonance, flickering to a reality so strong nothing was before nor after yet their resonance held and dissolved back to homogeneity before every reformation of oceanic life found momentary resurgence. Having no material aspect there could be no focus only a multitude of crystalline moments that invigorated the dimension . Till, in patient loss of self after years of suspicion, finally assured of the visitations humility, the whole formed to a consciousness. Revealing his presence. Fragile coral structures built in to temples of white complexity. A power beyond solidity reached to express the divine authority. Poseidon took the shadows of what he once had been before to its dispersal amongst the depths. Only feeling was left, though this feeling was one of love. Fond empathy passed into all that was from the deity at the innocence and simplicity of the visitor. A kindness offered something he could know. Particles from the entire globe returned swiftly into a form that was a gift for him. Now able to focus he looked above to the ocean surface. Female oceanic Angels, Poseidon's daughters, twins, one either side took his hands and together with such delicacy and care, they pulled him to the surface. Bursting into air the two arch mermaids remained connected though now a mile or more each side yet still he felt there hands hold his. Intuitively wings burst from his back and as archangel he soared skywards. They now formed together as a triangle, at the apex he could now look at his old place. Their connection of the three points opened forth a triangular passage that reached out to sea. Far off a red boat a tiny point amidst a circular mass of eels in constant interplay. Below three connections, girls somehow familiar to him, one stood at the waves outer slide watching her sisters who stepped aboard a dingy. Though a mile to his left and right the sea angels showed him that another had coalesced as he had. From the dingy the three boarded a blue boat. Here now also, the eels gathered. From the many thousand conger eels a hive mind arose. A singular consciousness of which the girls were aspects. With the mer Angels he held open their triangular corridor protecting the blue boat as slowly it sailed outwards and reached the red boat. He felt the minds of the ones he was once of together now. So too was their goddess. An eel mass that felt an anger and hurt. He had sought Poseidon's acceptance of Jig, he had permission for the new goddess to live in the oceans. He felt the hands slip from his, the triangle broke up as did the channel it had led a protective passage out to sea.. Flickering above he fell as Poseidon caught him gently, then the sea God turned away to other matters. Mandalas shifted in pattens so wondrous thar all reason for being left, till he felt the fine line tugging gently at his skull. In abandonment of volition he gave himself up to her as she pulled him back to her dimension. Returning to land and air. Plant forms in abundant growth smothered and took him in. The goddess lay him down with tenderness back to his flesh. In cushions he lost her a little. The goddess was leaving. Touching his side now we're rocks. Stone cold hard. Sand felt gritty in his mouth. He was Peter again. In a cave. All his friends now a dozen miles out at sea. Propping himself up on his elbows he looked back at the melting footsteps he had left as he'd walked out to the cliffs. A figure was walking his way. Stella had kept her word. She must be following this path he'd left her. Bill would be glad, he thought, when Ianto brought the lass home to him alone in Clun. Then under he fell. Consciousness gone. Stella found him sleeping. Kneeling beside him she stroked his hair from his face.


DI Briggs had trouble sleeping. Most people enjoy a steady curve in their journey. Others may have a point of change. An elbow where their direction shifts dramatically from one direction to another. An epiphany or revelation of such clarity their lives can be split into before and after. Every sacrosanct pillar of security that formed Briggs moral certitude had crumbled. Dark acceptance flooded into his being over the five hours he lay in bed. Briggs now in a state of crystallised simple perspective he saw what had always been there all along. The romantic fantasy his life had passed in was now revealed as an infantile self deception. Suspicion had been brewing deep in his subconscious since the investigation had began. He'd dismissed the creeping truth as paranoia. Today reality was not a hazy confusion. The men he had dined with had taken away the noble code he'd lived to, ridiculed its naivety, returned him to the real world, the putrefaction of police corruption. His hosts the previous night had been correct in one regard. He had a choice to make. He kissed his wife then left her to sleep on. He could tell her nothing. He could not bring danger to her. Calling in sick was a first for him and as such was accepted by colleagues at the Craven arms police station with surprised grace and hopes for his swift return to health. Dressed in casual clothing he first decided to follow up the snippet of a lead he had. Not that he had great hopes that it would find the murderer, more to tick all boxes. To warn his delegated target. It was something he could do without fear of upsetting any dark forces above. There could be a version of the truth linking both Ben Black and Rupert Bunsen. From what he had gathered from Bowles Clarrindge, Bunsen had sent his minions to murder the mysterious Lady Harrington who had since disappeared. Rumoured to be alive living hidden within the counter culture, her sisters death in mysterious circumstances apparently the trigger for her disappearance. Briggs knew she must have met the wall he had. Stepped inadvertently into a secret world.. Bunsen must have been on a similar cleaning up manoeuvre, when Lady Harringtons sister met her end, as had been last nights purpose. Had Bunsen had both sisters killed? Had he killed the wrong sister forcing Harrington to go to ground? Did these Wolverhampton boys know too much about the ruthless monster? Was Black working for Bunsen? This last one he had not considered. Why would the two be connected, living such differing lives? Yet, if you want discretion you'd find the least likely. On this twisted logic Briggs developed a theory. The headless boys must have met Harrington on the party circuit. She becomes loose lipped in drink or drugs and tells the boys that the party's they attend are run by a killer. They start talking too much. Bunsen employs Black to stop them talking. Sending out a message to anyone considering talking. Or was Black caught up and used like him? An innocent used to continue Bunsens empire of evil.
Briggs life had been given over to a lie. Ever since ten or twelve he had trod the same path. His world was simple and righteous. Committed to stopping the criminal deviants who did the devils work to try damage the good people that found fortune through hard work. Briggs was a good man. Not a deeply religious man but a believer in a natural order. The wealth came to the pure of heart and hard working nobility. Poverty rewarded the lazy and bad. His life's purpose to maintain the status quo. Preserve gods plan. The new world he found himself in wasn't fair. This time Rupert Bunsen had made a terrible error. Stripped of all he held up as what made sense of life Briggs had lost any care about himself. Rather than scare him into submission last night had freed him of any existential worry. Committed now instead to bringing his man to justice beyond any professional demands. He would bring down Bunsen or die in the attempt.
Reduced to a stone hearted reality, bereft of romance. Feeling one with his Lexus these thoughts carried him through the dozen miles of winding road that linked Craven Arms to Clun. Consumed with his mission the trio of hill forts punctuating the green hills to his right in an earthly solemn confirmation of the righteousness his path now would take. Clun was quiet as ever to slip through and onward to the Blacks farmhouse Tyrone had warned him off all those years back. Poultry scattered to the gravels crunch under the Lexus wheels. Two ford escorts, long out of service rusted into the green undergrowth. Dogs barked inside the house warning any occupants of his arrival.
The dogs continued a hostile warning song as Briggs banged the oak door. Three stout thuds then he waited two minutes. Three more rounds of the pattern failed to deliver any human response. Maybe there was no one home. The coppers instinct of nosy intrusion found Briggs checking the back of the semi derelict building. Stepping toward a small shed just to get a feel of how these people lived he heard the click of a shotgun triggers retraction. Framed in the rear doorway stood a youth of Celtic look, black curls hung from an army cap, he pointed a double barrelled shotgun aimed at the coppers face.
Bill: "Who the fuck are you? Speak out. Explain why you are here and it had best be a fucking good story, mate, or as a boy alone moat will concur, I had no option but to defend the family home!"
Briggs: "Sorry son! I was a friend, well I knew Tyrone Black. I...err..wondered if his lad still lived here. Ben. Are you....."
Bill: "Never mind who I am. You are trespassing on private property and no one born within fifty miles of this place could claim to have not heard of Tyrone. How were you acquainted? No disrespect but you stink of bacon, am I right? Filth?"
Briggs: "Fair play, son. You have me. I'm here on private business though...."
Bill: "Wo! You lot are a breed. It's in your blood as much as I am a Druid! I'm a Druid when I'm asleep just a a pig is a pig. Sleeping or not. You don't have social calls. You have no private business. You'd best come clean very quickly, officer as in those civilian clothes how can I tell you aren't here to rob and murder. One minute from now you'll have explained, be back in your car or your head will be a meat smoothie, a burglar, dead on the deck!"
Briggs felt the venom. Last night he'd finally understood why men like Tyrone despised those in his line of work. The corruption he'd thought a hangover from seventies mythology was as strong as it had ever been.
Briggs: "Ok! As things stand I may no longer be a copper, though that has been my job all my adult life. Two lads were killed up in that Hill fort madness you no doubt saw last month. They were lads, like yourself, out for a laugh. They had families, girlfriends, they'd stepped into something we have no grasp of. Both were garrotted. After which they were decapitated using a carpenters saw. Ben Blacks DNA matches old particles of long dried blood in the handle. I know he works as a joiner sometimes. Could be Ben threw the saw away in some skip. The guilty may have found it there and taken it to carry out this butchery. I don't know. What I feel sure of is that whoever did this was working for Rupert Bunsen. Maybe for money. Maybe under duress. What I am certain of is this..There was an illegal party organised by this man. A man I am trying to track down. This man is of a kind of evil beyond anything I've known before. My objective is to bring Bunsen down. You can tell me to leave and I'm gone. But as things stand, Ben Black, who our records place living here, is half way to being used, guilty or not, as a solution to a problem that concerns some very powerful and ruthless people. You'll have heard police talk such bollocks, how theyre here to try help the lad. That I offer his only hope of escaping a trap that closes upon him as we speak. For once this is true. Is Ben here?"
Bill: "I'm afraid he's not. Thank you, for the warning. Why would you offer this information to me?"
Briggs shook his head as he studied the patchy grass before him. Looking to the lad he saw the gun now lowered, he'd got past some small barrier.
Briggs: "Ben, for all I know maybe is working for Rupert Bunsen, but how the two parties could have met renders the idea unlikely. I've already said too much. Look, tell him that these murders require a solution. Powers way above have threatened me. Either I frame Ben or my life is done. If I frame Ben my life is over equally so. They'd then have me forever. They have offered me money and any fake evidence it might take to make Ben the killer. I have chosen to take a different path. My aim is to try nail Bunsen and the cancerous corruption that he is the king of within the force. I have no illusions that he may well kill me before I can do this. I'm as good as dead. I've chosen to go down with self respect. This makes little difference to Ben. There will be someone to take my place. They have decided that Ben is to take the rap. Look, his father and me weren't mates. Yet I like to believe that we had some mutual respect. Ben is no killer. If I can talk to him I could give him a better chance than anybody to slip this. Maybe there is nothing to stop this. But I must live to my code."
Bill could see the copper had tears that had run down his cheeks. The man was sincere. He knew so much that Bill knew he was right. The man was done. Yet he knew, on other matters, very little. The two stood as the situation settled on Bill. He never had liked coppers. But this was no bad man. Besides, Ben was guilty and there could possibly be a truth found to suit everyone. Bill had received a text from Stella saying soon shed be back. Some mate of Peter was driving her back in his van. The operation was underway. This broken copper had no chance of nailing Bunsen. Though he may not have to. Jig had risen. She now led the bunch of Druids, witches and shamans, a messiah to boot, towards the island where the Bunsen cunt raced to ready his journey to the stars. No way could he tell the copper this, nor would he believe it anyway. Yet he had come to step across cultures, given up this information freely with pure intentions. He had to offer some hope to the chap. He desperately needed something to hold onto.
Bill: "You have offered this to us. That must have taken some bollocks to do. I can't let you know where Ben is. But if I told you that, though this may seem the end game of your life, there are forces already at play that are of such magnitude, such power, they make the network of corruption you describe look a trivial thing. Take a few weeks leave. Somewhere hot. Out of the way. Let things take their course. I've heard of this Bunsen. You have no hope of bringing him to justice. The power he has within your system can't be beaten within it. Trust me, mate! Nature has her own ways of curing tumorous cancer growth. I can't give you more."
Briggs shook his head. The boy had a youthful trust in life. Something he'd lost. He could not see. On one thing the boy was correct. He was a copper. He could be nothing other than this. To stick around would mean either act out the framing of Black or find his life slowly destroyed. He could take time away. But these people weren't going away. He'd return to the same mess. He had only one path to follow. The leave he would take but Briggs had begun the end game. He thought of his grandfather. His battalion had been massacred in the trenches of the Somme. Taking what weapons he could from his dead friends he had gathered his thoughts. His life now over he had peeped across the mud to locate the enemy position that spat out bullets taking away his colleagues. The descriptions from the few that had lived to tell his story told of a man possessed by demonic fury. Alone he'd charged towards the Germans, killing a dozen, most who froze in fear at this crazed beast, till one had retained composure, putting a bullet through his forehead. They say he ran on like a dead chicken and tumbled onto the enemy. Briggs would do the same. He knew from this point on he took a direct line toward the man who had a private army, yet knowing he was already dead freed Briggs from fear. He smiled at the boy.
Briggs: "Just warn him, ok! I'm glad we talked. Wish me luck. My future leads toward Rupert Bunsen. Who knows? Maybe I can cause some mayhem before one of his zombie soldiers can find my target." The copper and Druid shook hands. Bill hoped this chap had sense to sit it out.
Bill: "Where does this guy live? Europe?"
Briggs: "He has an island, I'm told. Somewhere in the Caribbean."
Bill: "How will you get over there? Fly?"
Briggs: "I have some ideas. I doubt he'll expect me. If I am honest with you, lad, last night has left me confounded, do you mind if I sit down a few moments?"
The Druid had now lent his gun against the wall. Nodding to wooden bench the two sat like street drinkers. Here was not the enemy as police always before had been to Bill, instead a shattered man. Scared, shaken to the core of his being.
Briggs: "Strange, isn't it? Yesterday I found myself with men working together to induct me into an evil stretching right to the very top of the police force. It was made clear that I must cease any investigations into Bunsen and to frame Black. This they explained with such certainty they'd provide any 'evidence' to make the fit I may require. They made it clear if I didn't do as they asked my career was over, my wife would be killed, and me shortly after. They spoke with such assumption that I'd be joining the conspiracy. Today I'm here talking to you, a young lad I know to be what I might have called the other side. Because there is no one in my world I can talk to."
Bill watched as the man bowed and shivered in ripples of restrained crying spasms. He found his arm had reached across his shoulders, an act of comfort. This guy had rejected some huge bribe. Risked his wife's life. Taken some personal oath that meant his days were few. This he could have taken. Become one of the network of power. Yet, for the sake of his values. To save a Druid lad who, if truth be known was the killer whatever the evil of Bunsen. He had saved his friend from a life sentence by giving over his life. Further, he was going out in Cassady and Sundance manner, taking who he could down with him.
Briggs: "I'd best go. Tell Ben be careful. Keep this between you. These people can do anything they like. And I would be grateful if you keep quiet about this visit. There is no way I can bring Bunsen to justice. There is no justice. Where he lives there are armed guards patrolling. My best hope is to slip past somehow and kill the man with my bare hands. I don't even own a gun!"
The ex officer laughed at the madness of his situation. He pulled himself together. Wiped his face dry. Stepped up to bid the boy farewell.
Bill was about to say goodbye when an idea came to him. Earlier that year, before all this stuff had come up with the shamans and Christ;, Andy, Ben, Jimmy and himself had been given a tip by an old girlfriend who Andy still saw on occasion in Hereford. Her mother had a guest house. Their discreet service had found them giving rooms and breakfasts to an odd class of men. SAS based down there had a flow of special forces personnel that came, stayed awhile, slipped quietly away to Iraq, Syria, wherever. Some returned, some did not. None spoke about their work. The lass had become close to one such guy. Over many missions he developed a secret horde of re appropriated military hardware. This had become an obsession. The girl he and Andy shared became aware the soldier had a weapons fetish. One drunken night they had been discussing her mothers disapproval at her lack of interest in dull men. Joking she said she'd like to shoot the old bag. Take over the boarding house unhindered by the endless moralising of the bitter old hag. His eyes hid sparkled in conspiracy. Maybe he was just the man to help. Taking her out to the countryside he'd driven to a disused quarry. Passing her a torch matching one he now held he led her into a cave network where finding the marked rocks he began to pull away stone after stone. Deep beneath was a steel vault, secured with two sophisticated locks. Opening the lid was a treasure trove. He'd shown her his collection of top grade hardware. Shoulder mounted rocket launchers able to destroy a tank. Bazookas. Grenades. Various guns. His stash of hardware was hidden well. The two used the place several times for sexual liaisons. One day the chap slipped away to Afghanistan on an assignment. His some time lover had grown used to these periodical absences. A week or two had gone by when she got called into school. Her ten year old lad had been in trouble again. His phone confiscated, she came to collect it from the headmaster. They were concerned by imagery boys in the school had been sharing. Jihadi propaganda. The head had given her a despairing look as he handed her the boys phone. Clicking play she saw the video. She'd seen these type of propaganda images before but only in still photos taken out and printed in the papers. The format was familiar, a line of masked Islamists stood behind a kneeling man in orange jumpsuit. The masked ringleader made a short speech directed at David Cameron and Barrack Obama. The camera then focused on the captured and condemned victim. It took a few seconds before she recognised the man reading the scripted statement of support for their cause. The guy she had fucked not a month ago looked into the camera. He retained composure as the black clad Islamist hacked through his neck. It was only once the spinal cord was severed that he lost consciousness. Whilst in the headmasters office somehow she had remained emotionless. Perhaps the brave manner in which her lover accepted his fate had given her the strength. Once outside she broke down. She called the only person she felt able to open up to that would not condemn her or dictate to her what to do.
Andy had driven down to comfort the poor girl. She told him her story. He knew she saw other men. He had other girls. But their was trust between the two. Andy realised the weapon stash now had no owner. At least he could find a buyer. Some financial compensation for her loss. The drulads had discussed the value of the weaponry and the danger in trying to find a buyer. Worth a lot of money to bad people. Able to draw a sky load of shit upon anyone found having such tools of war in their posession.
Bill looked at Briggs and wondered how he'd react. Asking Briggs to give him a few minutes, the youth slipped indoors to make a call. He may be in a position to repay the distressed ex lawman. Andy answered his phone and listened to the whole incredible story. This copper had given their Druid brother a chance to escape conviction for murder. The whole problem could now, with a little luck, be resolved. The ex old bill had given his own life to save Ben. He deserved rewarding for this noble act, undoubtedly. Better still, the guys suicide mission may be helpful as a smokescreen to their own endeavour. If all went well they'd be long gone from Bunsen island by the time this suicidal would be assassin arrived. If all went to plan he'd be going into a place the United Mystics had left in chaos. The leader gone, his wealthy clientele too, only the private army of his security team should be left. Briggs didn't need to know what he was heading into. Both agreed it unlikely Briggs would survive against over a hundred mercenaries. Nevertheless, he'd get his moment of vengeance. Find glory in death. Even the possibility of Briggs being assumed the sole architect of the attack on Bunsens Island. Some form of government authority would be drawn to investigate. Of this he had little doubt. Here was an opportunity, an alibi, perhaps. Andy gave the go ahead to young Bill. He'd wanted to see the poor lass right for some time but had put it on hold for this shamanic scheme of madness. The joy of chaos filled Andy as he clicked off the call. Mad man copper! Mental!
Returning to the disconsolate ex policeman Bill felt good being able to offer the man a quantum of solace in his doomed situation.
Bill: "You say you're over with the job? Only after Bunsen?"
Briggs: "I'd be grateful if you told no one of this visit. Those who soon will be hunting me need no extra help."
Bill: "There is no talking you into disappearing, a new life and identity in a distant country?"
Briggs: "These are people no one can hide from. What I know means I either carry out their orders, or must be silenced. Try running, my wife might last a month. This choice I've taken has only one end. All I can salvage is some honourable death. This window of time before they realise that I've rejected their offers could be a week. There may soon be visitors for Ben. I'll leave a confession for the dead decapitated boys, with luck that might keep them happy. But he must keep away for a while. One thing I ask is you forget my coming here."
Bill: "Goes without saying. Look, I've access to something that could even the odds. Should I find you let me down I'll be straight back to do the same. Here, get down to Hereford. Ring this number. She wants five grand. That's a bargain. She will not rob you but she will not meet you. Trust the girl. She will ask for the cash first. Then you'll get the location. There are a pair of shoulder mounted anti tank rocket launchers, grenades, all sorts of stuff. Take this on me. If you're going down then take as many of the fuckers with you as you can."

Bill watched Briggs drive away. The man he knew he'd never see again. The fact he had the same target as his crew meant little. This was something private. He had met a broken man. He'd given Ben a chance without wanting any reward. Ben had, if the truth were to be of any difference, sawed through the necks of the lads out on the hill fort. The copper could never know nor ever understand that this act took personal sacrifice for a greater good. No good could come of Briggs knowing the truth. The ex copper was on a righteous quest that was clearly doomed. But the man came and gave his knowledge to help Ben. Only trouble would come of it if the drulads got the military hardware. Bill felt good to be giving the chap chance to blow some of the bastards up before his end.
Describing all this to Ben took a sensitive approach. They'd not want some lunatic copper spoiling their scheme with missile fire. They'd be done, for better or worse by the time Briggs had got down there with the kit. Hopefully the mad pig would find nothing but Bunsens private army to shoot at. Yet Bill knew, as did they all, that things could easily go wrong. All agreed, if they lay dead from Bunsens men, some recompense could be taken from this lunatics suicide mission. The crew on the red yacht laughed at the thought of the tattered Bunsen empire, fallen bar few footmen clearing up, looking to the ocean to see Briggs, a week later, shooting the fuck out of the stragglers. There now was added impetus to get there without wasting a moment longer. Lipton wondered how to get Peter from the beach to the boat he steered in patient circles. Somebody best sort this soon. Calling Andy over they discussed the options.
Andy nodded assertively before striding toward the blue vessel now toed behind the larger craft.
Andy: "Christ! Can you get your sandles on and help me drag the inflatable onto the bluebird. We're going to collect the shamanic psycho traveller. I'd take Ben but we may need your water skating trickery!"
Jesus leapt in to action. Glad to take the opportunity to iron out any remaining creases from the Porlock day. The holy pervert considered the whole daft business. Women! If Harry had just given him a swift shag, none of this shit would have been a problem. Selfish bitch!
Christ: "Right away, captain,"
Five minutes with Jimmy helping had the dingy strapped safely to the bluebird. Untying the smaller boat Jimmy threw them both a beer for the journey. The others used the free time to catch up. Harry looked grateful to have more females around. Lipton could feel the millions of conger eels that followed his circular path through the sea. Jig was in meditative self reflection. Returning to awareness took her time to harmonise the psychotics of thought and feeling. Charlotte sat in conference with the sea goddess. Cross legged she could not be approached. Her eyes were glazed over. Words escaped her mouth in sporadic muttering so. She wasn't in the same dimension of space as the others on board.


Stella found Peter sat in reflective poise. His cave floor now a mess of his scattered shamans tackle. Gathering carefully each sacred item she packed his shoulder bag. Still tripping heavily Peter couldn't yet talk though he was down to the dimension shared with the Clun witch. He managed a smile as Stella took his hand and slowly they descended to the beach below. Their walk back into town was comfortable despite his transcendent condition. Stella could see Peter wasn't in a great state to talk, even to his old mate Ianto. Taking charge she made sure the shaman had shown her the guys door. Peters Mercedes parked outside which confirmed things. Stella walked him back to a point where Peter could see easy passage to the beach. Kissing him on both cheeks she thanked him for arranging the lift for her. Thanked him for all his work, then pointed him toward the sea and watched to make sure he was on his way before turning back to knock on the welsh mans door. Ianto welcomed her in looking a little surprised Peter hadn't come and said adios. Shrugging it off he offered her a brew.
Peter strolled on. The ocean now had some new traits for him. Never before had he seen it as comforting. The vastness of water, the fragility most humans felt even on large ferrys had been lifted from his mind. Crucial to his shamanic sensitivity was Peters connection to the earth mother that provided for him, that fed him, whose energies he could channel through sacramental use of her gifts. His deepest mystical experiences had been when self was forgotten and his being blended into the land. Communion with Poseidon had balanced his shamanic spirit to an equal submergence with the depths. Fractal lights shifting and folding in constant drift formed a path way rolling with each step before him. From the ocean an arm reached out to him, welcoming him down. Flickering lihghts to either peripheral limits of his vision sang in lights. The mermaids he now knew as sisters were calling him down to the waters edge. Reaching the timeline Peter stood in the golden light as dusk began to settle out of day, from white sunlight graduating to golden shimmering that picked out two lines leading to the sisters of the sea who now waved farewell for today. Sliding waves ends made their deepest gentle reach in land, one across the last, touching his feet. A last caress confirming their new allegiance.
These fading numinous trickles broke away as a voice called out to him from the sea. Raising his eyes from the wave tips at his toes to look out to see who called. Two freinds were waving their arms to catch his attention from a blue boat. The man he called now a brother leapt from the boat into the inflatable dingy he knew. Slowly the smile of the son of God grew closer. Removing his shoes and socks Peter walked out to the holy man. Waist high water around him felt good. The arm he knew well, punctured with holes and deep scars, reached out to him. Their hands held and he was pulled on board.
Christ: "Peter! I'm fucking glad to see you, mate! You look tripped out to fuck! Get yourself cosy and I'll have us back with the possessive Druid before you know it."
Andy soon took both his hands pulling him onto the bluebird. They hugged each other. Then they both hugged Christ. They were precious, trusted brothers. Laying on his back Peter looked to the stars that began to pierce the deepening blue as day handed over to the night. He relaxed knowing he was safe. After night lost any last traces of day light he looked toward a bigger red boat where a line of people he had grown to love stood waiting to haul him in to their number. Tired, so very tired now. There must be a bed for him there. That was enough transcendence for a while, he thought. These last two trips had been further than he'd ever been. All he wanted was to sleep. Hopefully next to Charlotte. He lost consciousness, exhaustion took him under.


Briggs drove toward his home town but turned right on to the A49. He could not face speaking to his wife. He loved her so much. He hoped that she believed the lies he was intending to leave behind in his suicide note. If she could hate him, forget the good times, maybe she would find someone better. Anything he could tell her that was true could only endanger her. The Lexus pulled in to church Stretton petrol station forecourt. He filled up with fuel then slipped into the town to look at his account. Following their recent holidays there'd be over £26000, he guessed. The deal Bill had arranged would use £5000. Quick estimates of air ticket to the Caribbean, boat hire costs etc, other expenses he began to tally up as he pushed his debit card into the ATM machine. £276000.47. Shock first, confusion till the slow realisation settled in. Once his card returned Briggs entered the Barclays branch where staff members who knew him nodded. Orgreave holdings ltd had made a payment earlier today. A quarter of a million. Bribery from the people above Reeves and Nutall. They had him trapped. Any dalliance would soon find investigators straight into his account details. Briggs grinned. This made things so much more simple. His wife's account, once he'd made a transfer had a small balance increased by £100000. He deposited the same amount into his sisters account. Last transaction he pulled out the folded slip of paper Bill had written the account number, name and sort code for a girl he would never meet for £5000. Once seated back in his car he texted a number the boy had given him saying merely 'paid'. His plans now took on new possibilities. He could even buy a boat and sail over there. Two minutes had passed when his phone bleeped. The payment had gone through. There was a picture message. A photo taken of an ordinance survey map. North of Hereford and west wards was a quarry. This was marked. Further details described where a cave could be found, how to open the entrance, how far down he must walk. The description then took a side tunnel where two keys could be found. Another photo showed a heap of rocks. Behind them was some steel vault. Inside he would find the hardware.
Another hours drive found him outside a disused quarry entrance. Boulders formed a blockade to discourage travellers from setting up home there. If he had been robbed the research was detailed. As the directions had said the heap of rocks once laboriously taken away opened up a tunnel high enough to walk down without the need to stoop. The peculiar accuracy of the circular rock flopped over exposing the keys. This must have been chosen with some care. Thirty minutes of sweat as his torch slowly grew dimmer left him elated. Before him was the steel box. A hidden chest of treasure. Being no expert Briggs selected on intuition. Two shoulder mounted anti tank rocket launchers, six grenades, a stubby looking Uzi machine gun, a long range rifle with stand and scope. Finally he took ammunition for all the weapons and two handguns.
Once he had loaded the contents into the Lexus boot he had one other call to make. Hetty sounded overjoyed he was in the area. He wanted her to run through her story one last time. Get exact details on Bunsen Island. As yet the wasn't certain how best to get there with this small armoury. But he couldn't take it through customs. That much was certain. A rush of adrenalin flooded him, every molecule tingled. Looking around it seemed quiet. Far from any dwellings. Taking one of the rocket launchers then locking the car boot, he walked back down the track. Rock faces either side grew in height as he passed the uncovered tunnel he'd left. A few hundred yards further on the track concluded in a horse show bowl, cliffs forming a circular wall all bar the entry route he'd walked down, a circular flat deck some 200 metres in diameter. Briggs stood at the edge, shouldered the weapon, felt its ergonomic perfection. It fit his bogey like some new SCSI robotic limb. The optical system flicked over into position. Sights beyond any telescope he had used. Focussing on the far cliff, 200metres zoomed in till he could see a beetle scurrying over the grey surface. One Boulder stood out. A caravan in size. Briggs centred in. The cross hairs had a subtle, delicate touch. Safety clicked off. Standing braced for recoil Briggs squeezed the trigger slowly. Air shifted in pressure pulling him back into a vacuum, a line of white led forth. Rocks as big as soccer balls were half way toward him when the sound hit. Boom! Flattened impulsively Behring near rocks Briggs wiped white stone dust from his face. Then standing from his clothes. The Boulder was no more. The spread of its parts, few bigger than a portable television spread across the deck. No longer able to retain composure, laughter took him in to a drunkness. He felt happy. Such fucking power! He may be dead soon but there'd be a mess left in his wake.

Bill had cleared his bedroom more thoroughly than he had in years. Fresh bedding smelt good. After a shower he was about to go to sleep for the night when he heard a vehicle pull up outside. Surely that copper hadn't returned. Pulling a slight gap in the curtains he saw Paters Mercedes sprinter. The passenger door opened and Stella jumped out. She was saying some thank you'd to whoever was driving. Slamming the door shut she walked towards the door that he'd opened to Briggs some hours earlier. Bill grinned. Fucking beauty! He thought. He'd even brushed his teeth.


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