The Unseen Read Online Free PDF

waiting on its mistress to decide her move. Mark had confidence, money always swayed the disbelievers no matter what bullshit he gave. Something for nothing was a great persuader.

    Mark started to walk away. Inside he could hear himself laughing, hear the boy who was hiding where no-one could see. His prick was rock hard. Would she follow? He heard her call, heard the dog bark. A moment later she was beside him, sleeping bag slung over one shoulder. Using mental monotone, he spoke to the Colonel over the combat radio inside his head, a radio that had been there since he was a boy. “Stage one successfully accomplished, Colonel. Hostile defence penetrated. I will now consolidate position ready to secure prisoner. Anticipated interrogation time, two days.”

    “Go to it, Zoby.” The Colonel’s answer also came inside his head, came back over the combat radio fastened permanently into his brain, a radio which had been there for as long as he could remember.

    “Name, rank and number?” he asked her, but the words came out as, “What’s your name?”

    “Me mates call me Sisshy.”

    “What’s your real name?”

    “Does it matter? Sisshy will do fine. What’s your name?”

    “Darley,” he answered. “Captain Jez Darley.” He put a guiding arm to her shoulders as they crossed the corner of Trafalgar Square, dodging traffic until safely in Whitehall. He felt the thin shoulder blade beneath her T-shirt and wondered how it would crack. Her odour was pungent, a dank smell of stale clothes and body. He hated an unhygienic hostile. When they got to the flat, he would scrub her, scrub her with a hard brush until she came out militarily clean. He would curry the dog, make the girl beg for her food. He smiled at the idea but did not report it to base.

    Again she laughed, that hoarse, screeching laugh that was instantly irritating. “Jez Darley. What sort of ponce name is that? Sounds like some dickhead celeb’s name.”

    “Ex-regiment. I was SAS.” He quickened his pace. The black void was back in his head, spiralling incessantly through his thoughts, cutting communication with the Colonel. “Before that I attended medical school.” He spoke in a clear, clipped voice mimicked from speech therapy tapes, hoping the hostile would not realise his radio link was down. He had to play cool, had to play steady.

    “A spy, a doctor! You’ll be a bloody prime minister next.” The ass screeched laughter again.
     
    He hated her, this filthy shank of female meat that never stopped talking, rattling in his ear like an incessant drone. Soon he would teach her the purity of restraint, gouging her body as she screamed her life into silence, the same way his mother had screamed into silence. But then his mother always screamed. Screamed more when she lay burning, too drunk to rise from her bed, too drunk to move while he fed the flames with vodka, his back raw from her scrubbing. “Bitch!” He stumbled. The dog yelped.

    “It’s a dog.” The girl was there again. “Don’t kick my dog.”

    He was lathered in sweat. They were passing Parliament. He remembered nothing of walking down Whitehall. “MI5 keeps this place clean,” he said. “We check each member for terrorist connections.”

    “Bastard politicians.” The girl flicked two fingers. “Least I’m an honest beggar. What do those sods do but fiddle their expenses?”

    Again Mark tried radio communication and failed. The vibes from this hostile really screwed him. He was speaking, he heard his voice clear and distinct. “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country. If you undergo the test, lady, if you pass, you can do a lot to put these bastards down. I’ve fought in Afghanistan, Africa, Iraq. I’ve undertaken covert missions from the Colombian jungle to the Arctic.”

    “What test?” She stopped on the pavement, then trotted to catch up.
     
    “The usual to join any organisation. Medical, IQ. Then if you really