Ray Sullivan publishes science based fiction adventures on Amazon, Smashwords, Apple iBookstore, Barnes & Noble, Sony, WH Smith and other good eBook retailers as e-books. Additionally all of his books are available in paperback on Amazon. He also muses on technology, posts comedic books in serial format and discusses the world of self publishing.
Books written by Ray Sullivan
Monday, 1 April 2013
Parallel Lives chapter 78
The transport from Fylingdales had arrived twenty minutes
earlier than expected, catching Jim halfway through his evening meal, served up
on aluminium plates courtesy of the Sergeant's Mess. The RAF policemen sent to
escort him back to base were keen to capitalise on the progress they had made
getting there, and were unsympathetic about his circumstances; their priority
was to get back home before midnight as both were due to commence shift at six
o'clock the following day.
While one set about frisking Jim, despite his observation
that he was unlikely to have managed to slip any weapons past the Manchester
Police Armed Response Unit and the RAF Sealand police, the other finalised the
paperwork. The weapon had been brought out of the armoury, clearly unloaded,
the magazine lain alongside the butt. The bullets could not be transported in
the same vehicle as the weapon; that right was reserved for operational
reasons, especially when travelling on public roads. It had been decided
between the two stations to retain the ammunition on Sealand's inventory rather
than transport it separately. As the decision had been made after the escort
crew had departed for Sealand they didn't have a copy of the issuing log, nor
had Sealand thought to have a copy faxed over. Consequently nobody actually
knew how many rounds should have been signed over.
At that point even Jim had forgotten that he had unloaded
some of the rounds at breakfast time, concerned that carrying thirteen rounds
was tempting fate. The fact that there was only eight rounds recovered at the
scene of the car chase had not seemed remarkable given that the magazine had
partly unloaded when he had dropped it out of the window; Jim had sunk into
such a depression that he hadn't given the following events much attention. He
had been aware of being frisked for further weapons by one of the officers of
the Armed Response Unit but that had been abandoned once the bona fide of
Martin had been established.
As they walked out into the cold, dark night Jim
instinctively thrust his hands into his suit jacket pockets, the same suit he
had worn for his brother's wedding and had worn to several Sergeant's Mess
functions in lieu of a dress uniform. Jim strode ahead of his escorts,
irritated at being treated like a prisoner by his juniors when all they had
been told to do was to transport him back to base while conveying the handgun
safely. His irritation increased as he was informed, in curt, rude terms that
he was to slow down, to allow his escorts to catch up. As they reached the
unmarked vehicle, Jim was left standing in the freezing conditions as the
senior policeman fumbled for the car keys, no sense of concern that Jim was
visibly very cold. Eventually the doors were unlocked and to Jim's surprise he
was placed in the rear seat along with the policeman who had carried out the
frisking, while the other one climbed in the driver's seat, casually throwing
the unloaded weapon onto the passenger seat.
Rolling his fingers around the tear in the right hand
pocket, Jim grasped the five rounds he had shoved in there at breakfast time.