Shell Shocked (The Cosmic Carapace, #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

There was no result that included 'Ingress', just many, many listings for Bushy Park. Odd he thought. He'd expected some sort of hit.
    He picked up the small, thick business card again and turned it over, hoping maybe for directions on the back. Nothing. He read the brief message again, '8pm, Ingress, Bushy Park, London. Bring the tortoise'. Something clicked in the depths of Spencer's mind. The click sent alarm bells ringing through his synapses alerting every quivering fibre of his body that the impact of what he had just realised had made it vitally imperative that he have a cup of tea this instant, and that it almost certainly would need to be followed by another one.
    The business card had been printed with the words 'bring the tortoise' on it. A tortoise Spencer hadn't had until around 10pm when he had arrived home to find it waiting for him, only half an hour or so before Spangler had turned up. He had known that Spencer had been let go by the council too... Ok, he had to go and find this place. He glanced at the kitchen clock which told him it was already 8:30. He would be late, but he was going. As soon as he'd had a bacon sandwich, a cup of tea and dug out some lettuce for the tortoise.
    ~~~~
    B ushy park sulked under heavy grey clouds. Deer sheltered under trees from a breeze whose icy fingers poked in delicate places. There was a dampness to the air as a lone figure appeared around a corner of trees, his coat collar pulled up covering the lower half of his face. He was of average build and average height, he had pretty averagely brown hair and didn't have any easily identifiable features such as a peg leg or an eye patch. All in all he was a police sketch artist's worst nightmare. He would have been completely inconspicuous if he hadn't been carrying a tortoise with 'Prat' written on the side.
    Spencer looked down at the business card again. After not finding any reference to an Ingress online he had simply turned up and gone to the local pub. A move which he had found in the past had often resulted in some information, but more importantly, always a pint. The barman hadn't been overly keen on the tortoise though, and had been pretty insistent that, 'The little shelled sod isn't staying in here.'
    Spencer had used this to his advantage, explaining that he'd be delighted to leave as soon as he told him where Ingress, Bushy Park was. Unfortunately, 'Never heard of it, now bugger off,' hadn't been hugely helpful. It was a big park.
    He was pretty sure this had been a stupid idea. Who offers people a job by turning up at their house late at night and asking them to meet in a London park with their newly acquired tortoise, which you suspected they themselves had left on your doorstep? Only a madman surely? He paused. He could hear music. He spun around trying to find a direction. It was a lone fiddle playing a long, slow, sad tune. He walked towards where he thought the sound was coming from, the wind making the sound ebb and flow as it came to him in waves. It was floating from a copse of trees, and he quickened his pace in its direction. As he got closer he could see flashes of white walls through the thick trunks. He moved inwards until he could see the edge of the tree-line which opened into a clearing and peered around a tree. About a hundred yards in he could see the base of a large house, the upper levels hidden by the treetops. From tree to tree he edged closer until he saw what was clearly the rear of the house. Large windowed doors were open wide, allowing the melancholy music its freedom.
    Spencer approached the doors slowly. He had no idea why he was being so cautious, but something didn't feel right. He could feel a tight knot growing in the pit of his stomach. The closer he got the more ill at ease he felt. The air was thick, clinging to his skin and his lungs, his heart beat faster, the knot in his stomach grew in intensity. He realised he was struggling to walk forward, the air was like drying cement,