Ears of The Wolf

Proem

Proem….. It BeginsThe heavy thud of the Colombian vessel’s engines vibrated across the emptiness of the February night, disappearing with the ripples of the ship’s wake as they spread towards the twinkling shore lights. The first mate of the merchant ship Saint Albutt leaned over the taff rail, peering into the murk of the swirling mist that writhed on the surface of the waters of the Thames Estuary. He looked scared witless.

Another man stood beside the first mate, dwarfing him with his massive frame. The terrified sailor shivered as he stood in the shadow of the man’s malevolent bulk. His dilated nostrils twitched with fear.

Suddenly from the gloom astern, the hum of much lighter engines announced the arrival of an unlit river-launch. It swung in to the ship’s side. With one of its two powerful engines whining full-astern it manoeuvred alongside the slow moving hulk of the merchant ship. The newcomer held course about a metre clear from a pilot-ladder which hung to just above water level.

The first mate glanced up towards the navigation bridge, as if awaiting a signal to proceed. The bigger man was already climbing over the bulwark, impatient to be on his way down the ladder to board the launch.

‘This stinking wreck is covered in damn filth. Scheiss,’ he cussed, struggling to rub something off his hand onto the rope of the ladder. ‘I want never to see you or damn stinking russ-trap again,’ he snarled at the frightened seaman.

‘Don’t worry yourself, Captain Gotthard, we’re not . . aarrgh . .’ The first mate’s words were caught in his throat. With no hint of a warning, his neck had been clamped in the strangling grip of the big man’s left hand. It was the iron grip of an almost lifelike prosthetic limb.

‘Pelops. Is Pelops. An’ I worry never, not about anything. I get plenty angry.’ The words were curt, spoken in English, exploding with a strong German inflection.

The seaman recoiled at the furiousness of the retort that had been delivered in a guttural, bestial growl. But most frightening was the serpentine stare of the big man’s eyes. It was a cruel, psychotic stare which added a razor edge to his words.

‘Just not make me angry.’ He tightened his paralysing grip on the officer’s neck. ‘An’ now you know my name, you live a lot longer when you forget you hear it.’ He hurled the purple faced first mate to the deck and continued his descent of the rope ladder.

The mariner watched Pelops’s departure warily. Still gasping for breath, he struggled to regain some composure and pride. He was not at all sure how he might manage the latter. He gave a silent cheer as the source of his torment jumped onto the shadowing launch. The big man wriggled free of his leather backpack and hugged it to his chest. As he disappeared into the cabin without a backward glance, a rasp of revving engines tore the launch away from the freighter’s side as it faded into the Stygian blackness of the night.

‘And don’t think you frighten me, you bastard.’ shouted the first mate. He brandished the middle finger of his right hand, accompanied by a stream of Colombian expletives. As he went back to join in the docking preparations on the foredeck, he prayed fervently never to set eyes on Pelops again. He could not recall ever being so scared over one of his skipper’s shady deals. He was positive no good would come of helping a monster like Pelops. The few days the man had been aboard had proved him to be a dangerously volatile man, more capable of instilling terror in any normal being than a lunatic swinging a Samurai sword.

Pelops rummaged through the various fitments for his prosthetic arm which made up for most of the contents of his backpack. The precious bag also contained the disassembled parts of his Heckler and Koch submachine-gun.

There were two other men aboard the launch. One was at the controls, the other conducting a briefing with Pelops. A false passport for the illegal entrant lay on the table. But it was roadmaps in which they were most engrossed. The air in the small cabin reeked of intrigue. Obvious, too, was the tremendous amount of respect, albeit tinged with a degree of fear that the crew had for their passenger.

‘You guys wait stand by,’ said Pelops. ‘First business I must do first thing. Then I am ready for finish of problem.’ He waved his passport. ‘This help me move about. Is good. When is something I need, I get in touch.’ He gave his left arm a pat.

‘Any problems, you know who to call,’ said the one who had given him the maps. ‘Any trouble, you mustn’t hesitate to ask for help, immediately.’

Pelops’s head jerked up. He shook it vigorously. ‘Will be never problem, just for one who gets in my way. You understand?’ He paused.

But the others remained quiet. The man at the table nodded assent.

At that moment , the pitch of the engines changed. With a throaty protest the boat slowed. They braced themselves as it banked round. It was now heading in the direction of a deserted landing pier. The man at the controls juggled, closing the throttle, spinning the helm. In the quiet of the night the launch slid alongside the jetty.

Pelops covered his cropped mop of greying hair with a soft, blackcap, threw the backpack on his shoulder and grunted. He pulled his bull-like frame through the doorway and took a huge gulp of the riverside air. He took the time to let his eyes adjust to his surroundings. He swept his gaze over the panoply of lights and buildings that made up London’s Canary Wharf. His thin lips creased to an indeterminable grimace. He muttered something that was inaudible to the world and other two men. A car parked at the head of the jetty had attracted his attention. ‘Ja, das ist gut,’ he mumbled to himself, ‘Das ist sehr gut.’ He stepped onto the jetty, gave the departing launch a salutary wave and made for the Jaguar saloon.

*

‘You know damn well you’re wasting your time here and mine.’ The diminutive, white-haired academic whispered. But his advancing years did not discourage his attitude and vehemence. Here was someone vexed, but desperately trying to refrain from shouting. He stood on the doorstep of the large detached house, his chin stuck out, fists clenched, a dressing gown drawn tightly around himself. ‘So take yourself out of here before I call the police.’

‘I really am sorry is you who not understand.’ The coarse tones of Pelops’s voice was obtrusive in the still night air. It ruffled the blanket of quiet that rested on the peaceful, residential neighbourhood.

Both men stood soundless, tense. The older man was trying hard to maintain his look of belligerence but he could not hide his increasing nervousness.

Pelops ended the stalemate. He struck with deceptive speed. His left arm thrust accurately to its target. The slightest of whimpers came from the old man’s lips as a needle plunged deep into his carotid artery. He groaned at the surge of pain as the deadly fluid pumped into his neck. Clutching at his throat, then chest, he collapsed. Within seconds, the old man was a pitiful, lifeless heap.

Not finished, the assassin cracked his victim’s senseless skull against the brickwork, shattering empty milk-bottles around the porch.

The pandemonium resulted in the house lights being switched on.

Pelops checked the syringe was safely rehoused in his bionic limb, then prised a wap-phone from the fingers of the dead man. With a huge leap he cleared the steps and made his way back to the car. ‘Das ist gut. Ja, das ist sehr gut,’ he mumbled as he slid into the rear seat of the waiting Jaguar.

A woman’s terrified scream filled the night air.

‘Just get car from here quick. Stupid old fool not want ever listen. Guess he not listen with no one, no more.’ Pelops gripped the driver’s shoulder lightly, then leaned back and closed his eyes. ‘I just get me some sleep, me an’ your boss then can talk some real business.’

The driver threw a small shrug, then directed his attention back to the road. He had been well briefed about Pelops’s lack of social skills. Then, as if suddenly remembering, ‘Lang-Mainwaring’s deal is our urgent priority, don’t forget,’ he ventured, gingerly.

Pelops heaved a great sigh, lifted his eyelids. His eyes were boring into the back of the driver’s head. ‘I deal with that one soon as I am ready. Just make sure no snags back there.’ He gestured towards the rear of the speeding car, relaxed again, closed his eyes. There was a pause, then, ‘Mainwaring plays ball, or he wish I kill him like old man,’ he murmured. His eyes stayed closed.