Moriarty- The Road Read online

  MORIARTY

  THE ROAD

  Jack Spain

  http://moriartysaga.blogspot.com

  Moriarty – The Road

  Edition 1

  Previously published as ‘Moriarty – The Hill’

  © Jack Spain 2014

  All rights reserved

  Jack Spain has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patent Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be copied, reproduced, or duplicated, in any form without the written permission of the author.

  Table of Chapters

  Prologue

  Of Rabbits and Hares

  The Laboratory of Balor

  The Road

  McManus Castle

  The Bonsai Trees

  Cornflake Tikka Masala

  A Big Black Van

  Distinguished Members of the Press

  A Change of Plan

  Save the Rainforest

  The Crisis Deepens

  A Daring Mission

  The Spy Emerges

  Trapped

  The Battle of Grogan’s Lair

  A Deal with the Devil

  Fort Knock

  A Storm is Coming

  For Calvin…

  MORIARTY

  THE ROAD

  Prologue

  Silently, deep in thought, they sat opposite each other in the shadows, watching each other with eyes hidden by the darkness. Conor, King and Chieftain of the Ox Mountains, leaned forward into the light. He was old with mad, battle-wizened, steely grey eyes and a grey beard that covered most of his face. The other man, Nemed, leaned forward into the light to listen, his face, like that of a ninja warrior, shrouded with a black cloth, only his eyes visible.

  ‘I understand,’ said the King, and then he stared into the other man’s eyes, searching for some sign that it wasn’t true. He sighed and decided to change the subject.

  ‘In any case, are you well enough for a mission?’

  ‘Gotta get back in the saddle sometime,’ Nemed replied.

  ‘True, but it’s a tough one,’ King Conor told him.

  ‘They’re all tough.’

  ‘I suppose they are,’ the King replied before glancing down at the map on the table. ‘This is Black Hill, or Hill Five as we know it. Its leader is King Bruan. He’s been in charge since his father, King Eoin, passed away fifteen hundred years ago. It’s been occupied for over three thousand years, and up until three hundred years ago we knew everything about it.’

  ‘What’s changed?’

  ‘Their old druid, who was a good spy for me, died, so at Bruan’s request I sent a replacement called Balor of the Crooked Eyes around three hundred years ago, but he’s never reported back. Since then, nobody, and I really mean nobody, has been able to infiltrate it.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘The kings of the Hills are currently negotiating a treaty. It’s a non-proliferation treaty. All that means is that we will agree not to make any more certain weapons, like explosives, from a certain date. It’s likely that the other kings, and myself, will be keeping a few weapon projects secret. I need someone to get inside and case the joint. I need to know about defences, secret weapons, who really runs the place, and most importantly I need to know its weaknesses. If what you found out is right, I’ll need to know where we stand when the war comes.’

  ‘Given what I discovered, why not forge an alliance with the other kings as part of the treaty?’

  ‘It would take too long to undo four thousand years of cold war, with so many old prejudices and scores to settle. I’m picking that we haven’t enough time. Telling them would be pointless. They’ll just accuse us of crying wolf. We’ll have to act alone when the time comes, if it comes.’

  The man in the mask leaned forward and looked at the map for a moment. Then he leaned back and thought about it.

  ‘This, Balor. What is he like?’

  ‘Short, fat, with a full head of curly hair and a stammer. He also hates long words. Make contact with him if you must, but be careful. He may have turned.’

  ‘Does he have crooked eyes?’

  ‘Very much so. You can never tell when he’s looking at you.’

  ‘He should be easy to find then,’ he said. ‘OK. I’ll do it,

  Conor was pleased. ‘You’ll have to be very careful. As far as I understand there are only about four hundred living in Black Hill. Too few to blend in. They’ll spot a stranger in a millisecond’

  ‘I’ll work it out. I’ve always worked it out. With your permission, I’ll leave immediately,’ he replied as he stood up.

  ‘It’s good to have you back, kid,’ said the King. ‘Permission granted.’

  The masked man nodded to the King and walked to the door. Light streamed into the chamber and cast his shadow, tall, with two swords across slung diagonally across his back.

  ‘Nemed,’ the King called out to him. The man stopped and turned around. ‘Do you really think that he is back?’

  The masked man’s eyes seemed to smile. ‘I normally don’t make mistakes like that,’ he said, ‘but maybe we can hope that I was wrong.’ Then he was gone.

  King Conor leaned back in his chair and joined his hands in front of him to twirl his thumbs, a worried look on his face.

  Of Rabbits and Hares

  Moriarty’s back hit the ground with a loud thud, and he lay stunned for a moment in the thick undergrowth before groaning a little and then turning to his side. He took a few breaths and then pulled himself up onto his feet using a low slung branch to steady himself.

  ‘Chopper,’ he yelled. ‘Where did you go?’

  He looked along the branch and then under it to see his mount, a one-eyed sabre toothed rabbit sitting sheepishly a few yards away.

  ‘What did I tell you about low branches?’ he yelled at the rabbit angrily.

  Moriarty shook his head and stepped back from the branch. He pulled open his camouflaged jacket and then lifted his t-shirt. His chest on the right side was sporting a fresh red and blue bruise, interspaced with his ancient script tattoos. He pulled the t-shirt back down and looked around to get his bearings.

  He was at most, 13 inches tall, dressed in military style camouflaged fatigues and dark green boots. Around his wrists he sported a few silver, gold and leather bracelets. His hair was shorn extremely short and prickly and he had traces of camouflage paint on his face. Both of his ears were pierced with dull looking studs.

  He sat on a rock to catch his breath will the rabbit, seated nearby with a saddle, and bridle fitted around an eye-patch stared at him patiently, his paws tucked underneath, with a feint expression of remorse, which could old be detected by other rabbits. As he sat he pulled out a small package from his inside pocket and opened it to reveal a small damp bandage which he took out, and lifted his shirt, and then began to dab onto the bruising which was beginning to swell. He held the bandage pressed to his chest and then looked out across the fields, glistening in the morning sun. The shade of the hedgerow he was seated under and the stone wall behind him made him all but invisible to anyone who was more than a few feet away. He felt safe and sat like this for a few minutes before something else, about half a mile away, caught his eye. He stood up and stepped to the edge of the hedgerow to get a better look.

  The short convoy of vans made its way into an empty field. There were six of them, all the same make and model, but different colours and ages. They parked in a line and the passengers began to climb out. Most of them immediately walked around to the back doors, which they opened, and took out cages of small animals and seve
ral greyhounds. The men joked amongst themselves as they went about their business. Another van was on lookout just up the road. The driver was waving a few other cars down to the field. The man in the lookout van was very dishevelled and carried a walkie-talkie. A second man, who was standing by the gate of the field, carried another. This seemed an organised affair. The field was in a valley, shaped like a basin, with high bushes all around. There was only one way in, and one way out, unless you included running across the fields.

  Moriarty looked over at Chopper for a moment and then back at the gathering in the field. He watched them very intently for a few moments as they got out of their vans and greeted each other.

  ‘It looks like they are setting up for a hare course,’ Moriarty said as he looked over the still seated rabbit. Chopper turned his head to look down to the field as Moriarty made his way through the hedgerow to the rabbit and then opened a saddle bag. He pulled up the cover and then pulled down a flap to reveal a mobile phone. It was almost as big as his chest. He pressed a button to check the signal and then looked over the rabbit’s back in the direction of the vans in the field. He then dialled a number. The phone buzzed a few times to indicate it was ringing on the other end of the line.

  ‘Garda Siochana, or Irish Police if you are not Irish,’ came the reply. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I’d like to report a hare coursing incident that is happening right now,’ said Moriarty. He then proceeded to tell him all the details, such as the location and the number of vans and men. He signed off with a false name and hung up, and then so that he didn’t get a call back he switched off the phone.

  ‘I’m going to need a new sim card,’ he told the rabbit. ‘I hate caller ID.’

  Moriarty came around from the side of the rabbit and stood by his head. He looked to the horizon and then back down the field for a few minutes before he turned to the rabbit, grabbed his bridle to pull him on to his feet.

  ‘Let’s go down and get a better look while we are waiting for the cops,’ he said and then led the rabbit out of the hedge and carefully made his way down the steep incline towards a stone wall at the edge of the field.

  Several noisy hungry-looking greyhounds were being led around by a few skinny men. A crowd had formed around some cages. The men in the crowd were exchanging money and taking bets. Inside the cages were young hares. The little man already knew why the men were here. They were involved in the illegal blood sport of hare coursing, where a hare is released and then followed by two hungry greyhounds. If the hare is lucky, it gets away but more often than not, it finds itself being torn limb from limb by the hungry dogs. A horrible death.

  Moriarty looked around anxiously. ‘The police station is only five miles from he,’ he whispered to the rabbit. ‘They should have been here by now, unless they thought I was a crank caller.’

  He looked towards the cages. A particularly fat man with an evil grin was pulling a hare out of a cage by its ears. He showed it to the men who responded with a frenzy of betting. Some bet that it would die, but most bet that it was going to survive. The other hares became hysterical with terror with all the noise that the men were making.

  Moriarty leaned into the wall and then looked at the approaching road. Time was obviously running out for hares. He could only hope that it was going to make it. He knew that he was too small to make a difference on his own. Nonetheless he racked his brain for something he could do.

  ‘Dammit, Moriarty,’ he said to himself. ‘You should have ducked under that branch. You wouldn’t be here looking at this now.’

  He turned to watch the men who were lining up the dogs. While he was looking, he raised his left hand to grab Chopper’s bridle, but Chopper wasn’t there. Moriarty turned about sharply. There was no sign of the rabbit. Then, as quick as he could, he peered around the wall to see if he could find him. The rabbit was nowhere to be seen and the little man looked worried.

  Then he saw him, crouched under a van near the man who was holding the dogs, who could obviously smell Chopper, back while another taunted them with the hare to distract them. While the other men were looking elsewhere, Moriarty saw the man twist a back leg on the hare. It was obvious that this one was not destined to get away. Moriarty gulped. Seconds later, the hare was released and, a few seconds after that, so were the dogs.

  At that point, all hell broke loose. Three police vans with sirens blaring came charging down the road. The man by the gate was furiously speaking on the walkie-talkie. It was the police. They had finally turned up to arrest the hare coursers. There was pandemonium as one of the men was ordered to drive his van out onto the road to block the police.

  Moriarty took one more look at Chopper who was still crouched beneath the truck. Then he decided to act. He looked all about. Everyone was running towards the vans. If the van driver was able to get his van out onto the road, most of them would get away through the next field. Moriarty reached to his belt and pulled out what looked like a brass magazine with tiny glass containers, each with a needle in one end. He took one more look at Chopper and, when he was sure that the coast was clear, he went for it, sprinting from behind the tree to the van driver.

  Quick as lightning, Moriarty clambered up the man’s back to his right shoulder and stabbed him in the neck with the tiny needle of one of the containers. The man slapped his neck as he ran with Moriarty on his back, crushing the glass vial. A few seconds later, he stopped. The contents of the vial had taken effect and he was now under the control of Moriarty who instructed him to dance around in little circles. The man nodded and began to dance. Moriarty jumped down and, amid the confusion, made his way unseen to the van where he had seen Chopper. But when he got there, Chopper was gone.

  The hare’s heart was beating faster than it had ever beaten in its entire life. He was completely unaware of the pandemonium going on back at the vans and he didn’t care. The two greyhounds were still in hot pursuit, making a noise like two galloping race horses behind him. The hare changed direction, but the greyhounds were well able to manage the turn. He changed direction again, but once again they turned, losing less than a dog’s length in the manoeuvre. The hare was nearly ready to give it all up when he saw a tiny gap in the hedgerow. It was his only chance and he took it, first turning left, to slow down the dogs, then right, and then left again, and through the fence.

  He didn’t look back, and he didn’t need to, for he could hear the two greyhounds crashing through the hedge after him. The hare was only barely aware of the swishing noise he made as he ran through the long grass. It was almost entirely drowned out by the galloping and barking noises of the two drooling bloodthirsty greyhounds. They were getting closer and closer all the time. The hare darted left to slow them down, and then right, and then he saw his final and only chance — another hole in the hedge, only smaller. Mustering all of his strength, and trying to ignore the sprain in his back leg, he began to run as he had never run before. Now he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, sometimes missing a beat with the strain, faster and faster and faster.

  Despite the agony and terror, the hare made it through the tiny hole and tumbled through the other side, picking up a deep gash on his other leg. But still he ran. Only this time it was harder. The two greyhounds had also burst through the thin fence, but at this point the hare seemed to have decided to run himself to death. He forgot about the dogs, and, with eyes forward, he began to push on as fast as he could, as if he were hoping that his heart would stop before the dogs got him.

  The sound of the greyhounds, and certain death, was getting ever closer. The hare prepared for the deep bite into his neck, hoping that the end would come quickly. He felt the snout of one dog at his hind leg.

  Suddenly there was a huge yelping noise and the hare found himself being tumbled over by a greyhound spinning through the air. He turned to see the second one coming at him with its jaws wide open before it too stumbled, dragged down by what appeared to be a huge rabbit. The rabbit swiped the dog across the face with
its enormous claws before attacking the other one with its razor-sharp front teeth.

  Chopper bit into the neck of the dog, but then he seemed to realise that he was no match for two of them. He jumped back and ran towards the hare. The hare didn’t need much encouragement and once again began running, this time with Chopper by his side as a running block. The hare headed for a small hole in a high stone wall. He made it but Chopper had to lead the now-angry greyhounds around in a big circle before he too could dive through the hole, dislodging a few rocks as he did so.

  The dogs crashed into the wall behind him, unable to get through, over, or around it.

  Safe, Chopper stopped on the far side of the wall to decide what to do next. At first, he could not see the hare, but then he caught a glimpse. It had carried on running and disappeared through another hole in the wall on the far side of the field. Chopper snorted with disgust as if to say, ‘No thanks, again’ before turning and running back along the wall towards the pandemonium.

  The police were busy rounding up the hare coursers when Chopper arrived back at the tree. Moriarty was sitting down, leaning against the tree with his legs crossed. Chopper sat in front of him and watched as the police tried to figure out what the man dancing around in circles was up to.

  ‘Don't worry about him. It’ll wear off in about twenty minutes,’ Moriarty said as he stood up and walked over to Chopper. He was heartily glad to see the rabbit again as he climbed up onto his back. He took one more look into the field and then turned Chopper around and disappeared through a fence.

  Job done.

  The sun was quite high now so Moriarty directed Chopper to take a longer, but safer, route back to the hill. They had been riding for about half an hour when they came to a deep ditch that they had never seen before. Chopper slowly pushed through the ditch and the surrounding undergrowth and then, quite unexpectedly, saw the most amazing sight. The whole landscape looked as if somebody had scraped the top off it and made it flat. There were big machines parked everywhere. It was some sort of building site.