Iron Dogs , livre ebook

Pneuma Springs Publishing - Cliff Robertson

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129 pages

English

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There is a Mole in the Police Force Two men are murdered a third survives. They are thousands of miles apart yet they have one common denominator. They all testified against a career criminal called Banks. He went to jail but escaped and is seeking revenge.The survivor is Peterson. Peterson has been hiding in Canada's frozen north but a minor offence leads to him being finger printed. A renegade police officer on the pay of Banks has been passing police information to Banks. Only Peterson knows the identity of the mole but Banks is on his way up north to kill Peterson.The senior police Chief must get to Peterson before Banks and his men. Robert Laye, a police officer working in the area and Maddy Pearson, a young woman working for Peterson combine forces to help the "Chief" solve the mystery of the mole in the police force. A blizzard, murder and retribution all combine to make this a thrilling tale with a twist in the tail - naturally.Cliff Robertson is the son of a Canadian father and an English mother and has lived and worked in both countries. Cliff has travelled extensively in the Canadian Bush, fishing and camping. It was while working in Canada's far north that he learned some of the ways of the native people and fell in love with the wild and sparsely populated northland. Cliff is now retired and spends his time writing novels with the Canadian Rockies as the back drop. He lives with his wife Sylvia in the Victorian seaside resort of Seaton Carew near Hartlepool, a seaboard town on the north east coast of England. Iron Dogs is his debut novel.Book reviews online @ www.publishedbestsellers.com

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Publié par	Pneuma Springs Publishing
Date de parution	30 septembre 2008
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781782281337
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0145€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Iron
Dogs

Cliff Robertson
Copyright
First Published 2008 Published by Pneuma Springs Publishing
Iron Dogs Copyright © 2008 Cliff Robertson
Kindle eISBN: 9781907728587 ePub eISBN: 9781782281337 PDF eBook eISBN: 9781782280422 Paperback ISBN: 9781905809356
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Pneuma Springs Publishing E: admin@pneumasprings.co.uk W: www.pneumasprings.co.uk
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published in the United Kingdom. All rights reserved under International Copyright Law. Contents and/or cover may not be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written consent of the publisher.
Dedication

For Sylvia with thanks for her encouragement and patience over many years
The Novel
One
T he houses, shops, and deserted streets of the small west coast Scottish fishing village were being lashed unmercifully by the wind and rain. The buildings were built from Scottish granite and oak and had stood against such storms many times in their long history without any sign of losing the constant battle against the elements. Snug in their houses, the population felt no anxiety whatsoever as they sat out this latest storm sent to try them.
Outside of the harbour the waves vented their fury against the breakwater. They smashed into it with a roar like thunder and with such force the ground shook beneath the tons of water pounding it. The force of the waves however, despite the impressive nature of the scene, was spent harmlessly as each one was forced vertically fifty feet in the air in a column of foam that drifted across the harbour drenching the bobbing and tossing fleet of moored fishing boats.
The wind added to the scene of utter confusion by howling ferociously through the rigging of the boats making a moaning sound and rattling every loose piece of block and tackle in a mad dissonance of sound that hurt the ears. A stranger looking at this chaotic scene could have been excused for thinking that the boats would be sunk, or broken into many pieces at any time, but like the houses surrounding the harbour they were quite safe. Very large and bulky fenders protected the hulls and each boat was moored securely to two heavy iron rings set deeply in the old weed encrusted harbour wall.
In all of this mad activity from nature there was no sign of human activity, except at the hotel in the middle of the High Street. That is, if a door moving strangely back and forth could be described as human activity. At the other side of the door the explanation was even stranger. A very tall gaunt looking man was pushing the door in slow motion away from him in a futile attempt to close it and the wind in turn was pushing it back.
The man was not just tall he was extremely strong and he pushed with all of his considerable strength at the very old and very heavy oak door in one last heroic effort, and the untiring wind with a victorious howl inevitably pushed back. When this happened he gave in to frustration shouting breathlessly, and as it turned out prophetically.
“What a deadly country this is. Does the wind never stop blowing here?”
The question was directed at the hotel’s owner, a slightly built, wiry man of average height who had been watching the tall man wrestling the door with some amusement.
“Not very often sir,” he replied, coming to the rescue by putting his shoulder to the door and pushing with all his might. Under this combined assault the door relented and allowed itself to be closed. When the door was bolted securely he turned to the tall man and his companion, who had not made any effort to help with the door but simply looked on with an air of disdain, and said. “I presume you are the two gentlemen who booked by phone two days ago; the Reverends Alenby and Smythe?”
“That is correct, that’s us,” the tall man replied with a mid western American accent. He picked up a heavily strapped leather suitcase from where he had left it near the door and put it down by the desk before reaching for the visitor’s book and signed it with a flourish. “We’re over here for the summer studying Scottish architecture and wild life. Having seen all we want to see of the cities we’re taking a look at some of the less populated areas before returning home.”
“Aye well there’s plenty of wild life around here” the hotelier replied.
He stepped forward with the intention of picking up the suitcase. His hand was barely on the handle however, when his well intended action caused a sudden and dramatic change to come over the American. The amiable expression fell from his long bony face as he turned savagely on the smaller man.
“Keep your hands off that you fool,” he snapped, staring belligerently into his eyes. “Just take the other cases up to our rooms. I’ll get that one myself and don’t ever go near that case again.” The hotelier, rather than being intimidated, returned the stare and it even looked for a moment as if he was going to leap at the larger man. Common sense prevailed as he let his eyes wander to the ceiling in an effort to control his temper. Realising he had gone too far the American tried to make things right between them. “Our photographic equipment is in that case and I don’t allow anyone to touch it,” he said lamely, in the uncomfortable silence following his outburst.
The explanation was a rather poor attempt to excuse his bad manners and far less acceptable to the peeved Scot than a straightforward apology would have been. He picked up the other cases and led the way to the men’s rooms without another word except to wish them a pleasant stay. He politely, but pointedly refused the tip offered to him for carrying the cases from the foyer, and left the room with his chin proudly raised.
When he had gone the smaller of the two men, who had so far remained silent, came from his own room. He took the leather case, which his companion had been so sensitive about and placed it carefully on the bed. Everything this man did was done in a deliberate and calculated way. He loosened the straps in the same careful way and slowly raised the lid to reveal the contents of the suitcase: several kilos of plastic explosives and a packet of detonators.
“What the hell were you thinking about to speak to the guy like that Dave,” he asked quietly, without once taking his eyes off the explosives. Quite suddenly the air was very tense in the room. Dave’s tongue moved uncomfortably across dry lips. It looked for a moment as if he would answer but in the end he said nothing, simply because he could think of nothing to say that would make the situation any better. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing and making things worse.
The smaller man turned quickly away from the contents of the case that he had seemed to be studying intently and looked directly at his companion. Dave visibly wilted under his gaze and leaned back as if he was trying to gain some distance between the two of them. The other man appeared to derive great pleasure from this, as if he was feeding on Dave’s fear.
“The people here are very proud,” he said. “A highlander feels obliged by an unwritten code of conduct to treat you courteously in his home. He feels it is his responsibility to make you feel safe and welcome while you’re under his roof. Even if you are rude and bad mannered, as you clearly have been, he will still make you welcome. It’s only these principals that have stopped him throwing you out into the street. If you’d spoken to him outside of his own home in that way you’d have been chewing on his knuckles. I warned you not to do or say anything that would draw attention to us and the first chance you get you do just that. You make me wonder if it’s worth the bother bringing you along sometimes Dave, you really do.”
“I’m sorry Mike,” Dave said, apologetically. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I was just worried about the stuff and I forgot myself for a few seconds. I regretted what I’d said as soon as I’d said it. It won’t happen again I promise.” He looked down at his feet to avoid Mike’s intense gaze. There was real fear in his eyes as Mike looked at him for several moments in a silence that could have been cut with a knife.
“That’s ok Dave,” Mike said at last, “this time.” Dave had been stood with his muscles tensed and his jaw clamped so tight it hurt. He relaxed visibly now at Mike’s apparent forgiveness. “Remember though,” Mike went on, making Dave tense up again. “When we go back downstairs all I want to hear from you is please and thank you.”

T wo hours later in the small hotel’s cramped foyer Mike did his best to repair the damage done by Dave’s rude behaviour.
“Ah landlord,” he said, with all the respect in his voice that he could muster. “I do apologise for my friend’s manner. He is of a nervous disposition and recently recovered from a very bad period in his life that verged on a nervous breakdown. He meant no harm I can assure you.”
“Think nothing of it.” The Scot looked unconvinced despite his apparent forgiveness. Mike coughed and quickly changed the subject.
“I was wondering if my friend and I have time to take a quick look around the village before dinner is served now the wind seems to have dropped? We noticed some interesting houses at the harbour entrance that we would like to photograph.”
“Aye you’ve plenty of time,” he answered with a sigh, and a sideways glance at Dave. “It’s another three hours to dinner and my name is Macalister not landlord.”
“Thank you Mr Macalister,” Mike said, noting the man’s look at Dave. Mike missed nothing. Dave had gone too far this time and he would replace him. “We are particularly interested in nineteenth century buildings,” he went on, “especially any that have a religious connection.”
“Well there’s the Man