Brotherhood Read online

  BROTHERHOOD

  Mason & Sterling Thrillers

  Book One

  David Beckler

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  CHAPTER 29

  A NOTE TO THE READER

  PROLOGUE

  A six-foot-high steel spike fence topped off with coils of razor wire guarded the scrapyard. A gap in the fence made room for a pair of gates fashioned from a frame of scaffolding poles bolted into rough rectangles. Random pieces of sheet steel welded together in a patchwork of rust filled the spaces between the poles. The gates stood open, a heavy chain and padlock hanging from the centre of one of them. Piles of crushed and rusting vehicles occupied the yard, its patched concrete surface covered in a thin layer of mud infused with old motor oil.

  The Range Rover rolled forward through the gap. A chorus of barking and snarling broke out. Behind the fence, two large, unkempt Alsatians leapt to their feet. Separated from the rest of the yard by a wire barrier, they threw themselves against it, showing their canines in greeting.

  Summoned by the barking, a grey-haired figure strode out of the opening at one end of the container. He advanced, wearing a scowl. The men in the car waited until he came closer, then, at a signal from their leader, all four threw their doors open and leapt out.

  The grey-haired man hesitated for an instant before he recognised them and ran to the container, shouting a warning.

  In response to his shout, two younger men emerged from the container. Each carried a scarred baseball bat with thick tape covering the business end. Although outnumbered, they didn’t appear cowed. One of the men from the car produced a sawn-off shotgun. The two parties faced each other across the filthy concrete.

  The dogs became more frenzied until the larger of the two leapt the fence. The gunman swung the barrel of the shotgun towards the snarling animal.

  The discharge ruptured the morning air and the dog, hit in mid-leap, yelped before bouncing off concrete and landing in a heap in the muck. Shot in the chest, it lay twitching in a spreading pool of blood. The boom of the shot echoed off the surrounding buildings.

  The leader of the invaders cursed and checked the street, then led his men back to the car. He paused at the car and shouted, “This isn’t over.”

  The car reversed and shot out of the yard before spinning its wheels and, tyres screeching, raced away.

  One of the younger men threw his baseball bat at the car; it fell short, clattering on the road. The other helped his father to his feet. The older man shook off the helping hand and went to his dog, cradling its head as its eyes filmed over. He glared at the receding car, muttering, “I’ll fucking make you pay.”

  CHAPTER 1

  Philip Mason hunched his shoulders into his jacket and peered through the steady drizzle. He glanced behind him but the car seemed to have disappeared. He must have imagined it. Ahead, in the darkness, loomed the disused mill where the others waited. The closeness of its abandoned hulk increased his unease and his steps faltered as he approached the arched entrance into the courtyard. Liam, following a pace behind, barged into him and his head bounced off Philip’s solid shoulder.

  “What you stopped for?” Liam examined his crushed cigarette before flicking it away. It hit the glistening cobbles, releasing a shower of sparks.

  A feeling of dread weighed Philip down and, seized by an overwhelming urge to turn back, he studied the darkened building. The broken windows and boarded-up openings showed as darker shadows in the monolithic bulk. Philip tried not to imagine empty eye-sockets in a skull.

  “Come on, Phil. I’m getting soaked.”

  Dismissing a sense of foreboding, Philip shook himself and clambered over the low gate, before leading the way across the courtyard towards the entrance to the basement. The door resisted before opening with a creak, and an earthy odour enveloped them. Philip hesitated; the dark cavern absorbed the faint moonlight. Sensing Liam’s impatience, Philip made his way down the stone staircase. The darkness intensified with each step and at the bottom he paused, inhaling the stench of decay. A rustle, and a small, quick animal scuttled away from them.

  “Whooo, spooky,” Liam said, and shuffled forward.

  Despite his apprehension, Philip recognised his friend’s false bravado. The desire to turn and run gripped him, but it was much too late to back out now.

  “Where the fuck are the others?” Liam demanded. “I’ve got better things to do on a Sunday night.”

  A bright light clicked on, blinding Philip. Loud voices shouted incoherent instructions. Even though he expected this reception, Philip’s heart jumped. Four shadowy shapes rushed Liam, and Philip watched, disconnected, as the figures forced his friend into a chair.

  “Take his arm.” Mugisa’s order jerked Philip into action.

  He grabbed Liam’s right arm. On the other side, Asif fought to hold him. After a few seconds, Liam’s struggles subsided and, once he’d stopped shouting, Anthony recited the charge.

  “Liam McLaughlin, you are charged with stealing from the brotherhood.” Anthony’s voice shook.

  “How do you plead?” Mugisa demanded.

  “Fuck off,” Liam said. Spots of spittle sprayed Philip’s cheek and the stink of stale cigarette smoke filled his nostrils.

  Mugisa paused before responding, “The prisoner pleads guilty. We will consider the sentence.” He stepped into the shadows and held a muttered conversation with the other two.

  Liam’s breathing reminded Philip of a cornered animal, but he couldn’t let his sympathy for his friend weaken him. Liam didn’t deny his crime. He’d even boasted about how much he got for the video’s he’d stolen from them. The discussion finished and Mugisa came closer.

  “The punishment for betrayal is death,” Mugisa intoned with utter conviction.

  Liam tried to jerk free and Philip hunched over to get a better grip of his wrist. In the ensuing silence, Ryan giggled. Even in the gloom, Philip sensed the cold glare from Mugisa, and the laughter faded.

  Liam turned to Philip. “Phil, let me go,” he whispered. “Please.”

  Philip stared into the darkness. A machete had materialised in Mugisa’s right hand, glinting in the torch-light as he advanced. Liam stopped struggling, mesmerised by the blade. Philip had always dismissed Mugisa’s claims of his violent past as bravado, but not any longer.

  “You’re fucking cracked, the lot of you.” Liam’s struggles resumed and his wrists jerked, sweat making the skin slippery. “You’ve had your laugh. Now let me go.” His voice rose. “I’ll give you the money.” Mugisa continued implacably and in desperation, Liam said, “I won’t say anything to Ritchie.”

  Mugisa towered over him, machete raised high.

  Liam moaned and slumped in the chair. Philip relaxed his hold and, as if seized by an electric current, Liam jerked. Philip managed to hold on but Liam ripped his left arm free of Asif’s grip, swinging the fist at Philip. With a wet smack it hit his eye. The shock and pain made Philip cry out and reel away.

  Liam ripped his other arm f
ree and lurched to his feet. A blow on the side of his head made him stagger and his hand flew to his neck. Blood welled up between his fingers. Philip stared, numb, and for what seemed like minutes, nothing moved in the room.

  Liam grimaced in pain. “You fucking bastard. You’re dead.” Still clutching his neck, he staggered towards the exit, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. “Ritchie will have the lot of you!”

  Mugisa reacted first and pointing the machete, yelled, “Stop him!”

  Liam shot up the stairs. The fear which helped him break free spurred him on. At the top of the stairs, he crashed through the doors and out into the open air. Philip blinked to clear his vision and tried to control his breathing, unable to believe what had happened. The faces of the others reflected the shock gripping him. When nobody responded Mugisa lowered the machete.

  “We have to stop him getting away.”

  Philip said, “What you going to do?”

  “Stop him causing trouble.” Mugisa strode towards Philip, his voice rising.

  Philip stayed put, his pulse racing and he clenched his fists. They stood toe to toe in the gloom. Although well matched in size, Philip had never dared challenge Mugisa. “What? Say, ‘Sorry I cut you Liam, keep quiet about it?’”

  “It was an accident. If you hadn’t let him go, he wouldn’t have been hurt.”

  The rebuke stung and Philip’s retort died on his lips. He groped for something to say as Mugisa’s glare bored into him.

  Then Asif said, “If he tells his uncle, we’re all fucked.”

  This broke the spell and Mugisa led the way. The four of them collected their bikes and set off up the stairs. Philip hesitated for a few seconds before following. Liam needed his help.

  Liam ran through darkened streets lined with boarded-up terraced houses. His heart pounded and fear blocked his thoughts. The wound sent shards of pain through his neck and jaw. Blood dripped onto his shoulder. How bad was the cut? He didn’t dare stop to check. His steps faltered and he studied the houses. None showed signs of habitation. He must have turned the wrong way. He had to get away before the others arrived.

  Liam charged into an alleyway, past piles of stinking rubbish. His breath came in short gasps, scouring his airway. Why the fuck hadn’t he listened to Philip nagging him about giving up smoking? A stitch spread from his side, almost making him forget the pain from his cut.

  He paused and listened but could only hear his ragged panting and the pounding of the pulse in his ears. More blood dripped, coating his shoulder. A wave of nausea and light-headedness made him stagger and he placed a hand on cold damp brickwork. He made a decision and went left, searching for signs of life in the rows of empty houses.

  A light flickered from an upper window. Energised, he started towards it, but a mountain of rubbish blocked his path. Frantic to find another way in, he retraced his steps and dashed into the street, revived by the prospect of refuge.

  The light wasn’t visible from the front and he hesitated, trying to work out which house it came from. A distant shout alarmed him, but his strength seemed to be draining away and a mass of hot pain radiated from his neck. Resisting the urge to rest he hurtled back the way he’d come. He plunged down the dark alley, crashing into obstacles as his legs betrayed him.

  At the end of the alleyway he paused, resting against the brickwork and listening. His vision swam and his strength ebbed until he didn’t think he could go on. A whisper came from behind him and a shadowy figure moved. Energy jolted through Liam and he ran on Bambi legs. After three steps his left foot slipped sideways, and wind-milling his arms, he fell. He crashed into the nearby wall. Shockwaves jarred his skull and flashing light filled his vison. He bounced off, slamming head first onto the cobbled street and into merciful blackness.

  Mugisa dismounted and propped his bike against the wall. He unclipped his light and shone it at the mound in the alleyway. Liam lay on his back, his clothes filthy and dishevelled and a grimace frozen on his face. Blood pooled at the side of his head. Mugisa hadn’t thought the wound fatal, but he’d seen enough bodies to not need to check. Lights flickered and the others arrived together, halting a few yards away, shock and disgust distorting their features.

  What had they expected? They had to share the responsibility. Mugisa passed the machete to the nearest one. “Cut him.”

  Anthony’s eyes widened with fear and he pulled his hand away, letting the blade clatter onto the cobbles.

  “Pick it up,” Mugisa hissed, “and hit him with it.”

  Anthony hesitated but then obeyed and edged towards the prone body as if approaching a deadly mamba. He took a breath before swinging the blade. Mugisa snorted his contempt — the blow wouldn’t have sliced a strand of elephant grass. Anthony gave him a fearful glance before landing a second blow to Liam’s torso. The other two took their turns. Asif went last, then dropped the weapon. Mugisa retrieved it, filled with disappointment at their weakness. At least Philip wouldn’t let him down.

  Footsteps pounded the cobbles and Philip rounded the corner, slowing when he got closer. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped, staring at the body at their feet with horror. Mugisa stepped forward and thrust the handle of the machete at him. Philip knocked it away then ran.

  Mugisa hefted the machete and returned to the body. He wiped the blade on Liam’s coat and returned it to the scabbard under his jacket. His disappointment at Philip’s behaviour turned to anger.

  Philip’s long strides devoured the ground, but he knew the others would soon catch him on their bikes. The horror of what he’d seen threatened to overwhelm him but he mustn’t panic. He should have stopped to help Liam. But he must be dead, with all that blood round him. Mugisa’s pitiless expression made his legs weaken, but he tried not to think, just concentrate on running.

  After some minutes, lights appeared ahead. He’d reached one of the main roads that led, like the spokes of a wheel, from the city centre. Even at this time of night there would be traffic. His shoes, not made for running, chafed, and anticipating reaching safety he slowed, limping towards the street lamps.

  A faint sound from behind made him spin round. A figure on a bike was almost on him. The image of Liam’s bloody body gave him a jolt of energy. He ran. The skin on his neck tightened in the expectation of a blow.

  In a few strides, he arrived at the refuge of the well-lit road and faced his pursuer. The cyclist halted, waiting at the edge of the ribbon of light. In his panic Philip couldn’t identify him. Instead, he peered into the distance, hoping for signs of a vehicle and safety. Headlights approached, and he ran into the middle of the road, waving his arms.

  The driver slowed and hope made Philip giddy. Then the car swerved, passing him with horn blaring. His pulse thrashed in his ears and he looked back. Four figures waited in the shadows.

  CHAPTER 2

  The pupils rose as the teacher gathered her books and scooped them into her satchel. Shafts of bright sunlight shone through gaps in the thatching. She checked the time; it was past twelve and she had under an hour to get to the next school. The children chattered at the prospect of escaping the confines of the classroom.

  She focussed her stern gaze on them and they fell silent.

  “Now children, remember, we have a test tomorrow. You won’t forget to do your homework?”

  “No, Miss Kitumba,” they responded, The Boy leading the chant.

  “Do you all have your books?”

  “Yes, Miss Kitumba.” Twenty-two small hands shot up, each holding a thin bundle of grubby papers.

  “Good.” She paused and looked over their eager faces, unable to resist The Boy’s infectious grin. Of all the children she taught he showed the greatest promise. “Okay, then you may go.”

  They made for the door and she smiled as they shot out of the hut like a flock of startled guinea fowl. Some made straight for home but others stayed near the schoolhouse and The Boy organised them into two teams.

  In a homestead four hundred metres away, The Boy’
s mother studied her daughter preparing the cornmeal and smiled. At twelve years old, Sanyu was almost a woman and her mother knew it wouldn’t be long before she had to marry.

  The girl noticed the scrutiny and faced her mother, a question in her eyes.

  “Your little brother will be home soon. You’d better get his lunch ready.”

  Byron Mason listened to the hubbub of fellow drinkers enjoying their Sunday evening before the start of the working week. Dark walls and subtle lighting combined with a cheery log fire to create a welcoming atmosphere. Despite being in London, the pub could have been in any remote English country village. Tenderness filled him as he studied Louisa, their unborn child not yet showing. She caught him staring and winked. As if at an unseen signal, the conversation at the table paused and the other four people stared at him. His cheeks grew warm and they burst into laughter. The women gathered their handbags and rose to their feet.

  “I’ll have the same again.” Louisa stroked his nose as she passed him, her shoulder-length blond hair brushing against him.

  After giving him their orders, the other women followed her. Byron regarded his wife with a mixture of pride and affection. Tall, and with a good figure, she excited attention from the other men in the room.

  “I’ll get these, Byron. You’re celebrating.” Glen sprang to his feet.

  “Nonsense, it must be my round by now. I haven’t bought a drink all night.” Byron gathered the glasses and stood up, his eyes smarting as he entered the smoke layer. They’d had a smoking ban in California for three years, and he couldn’t wait for them to introduce it here.

  “I’ll give you a hand.”

  With Byron leading, the two men shouldered their way through the crowded room. He smiled, listening to the conversation and laughter. Half a head taller than most of the other men and with the build of a heavyweight boxer, he received his share of admiring looks.

  While they waited to get served, Glen said, “That was out of the blue, Byron. Lilly’s only just one. Are you ready for two rug-rats?”