Free The Soul Collector by Paul Johnston Page B

army pension, even one augmented by First Gulf War and SAS service. He laughed and told me that his wife had inherited a shedload of money from a spinster aunt.
    “Pete, you cut down the path that runs along the far end of his garden.” I pointed on the map Dave had drawn.
    “I remember,” Bonehead said. “Dave showed me. The neighbors can’t see me and I can cover all the rear windows.”
    “Right,” I said. “If there’s a lot of people inside and we get desperate, we’ll try to get to the back of the house.”
    “Yeah,” said Andy. “Just make sure you don’t drill us.”
    He pointed to his blond hair. “This is me.”
    Rog finished with his Glock, and turned to Andy and me. “Are you both going in? The book leaves that optional.”
    I looked at the American. “What do you think?”
    He shrugged. “I’ll hoist you in and we’ll take it from there. You all got your walkie-talkies?”
    Dave had insisted that we each buy an identical goodquality walkie-talkie. We were each responsible for ensuring the batteries were permanently charged, and I was The Soul Collector
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    glad to see that they’d all fulfilled that requirement. The units fitted to our belts and we each had a mini headset with an earpiece and a microphone that lay across one cheek like a dueling scar.
    “We’ll test ’em after we’ve split up,” Andy said.
    “Uh, what do we do if someone spots us?” Rog asked. He would be in the most obvious position.
    “Say you’re a telecom engineer checking radiation levels,” I said. “That should get them moving on.”
    “You’re joking,” he said, his brow lined. “Aren’t you?”
    Pete raised a finger. “Remember what Dave always says. When the book doesn’t tell you what to do…”
    “Improvise,” we all chorused. The number of times Dave had been mocked about that was huge.
    “What if you two both go in and we don’t hear from you?” Boney asked.
    “If we don’t come out after half an hour, you call the cops,” I said. “You’ve both got Karen’s number, haven’t you?”
    They nodded.
    “Why don’t we call them now?” Rog asked.
    “Because Dave used the alert code for us,” I said. “And we know from our White Devil experiences that we’re the only people who can look after each other.” I saw their expressions change when I mentioned the monster’s name.
    “Come on,” Andy said, adjusting his microphone. “We were trained by the best. We can handle this.” He glanced at each of us. “Let’s go and get the man.”
    Trust Slash to look keen. The rest of us tried to match him, with varying degrees of success.
    “Watches, guys,” I said. “I’ve got ten forty-two. Check?”
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    “Check,” the others replied, after some tweaking.
    “Right, communications check in ten minutes,” I said.
    “Go, Pete.”
    He had the farthest to walk and set off at a rapid pace, the bag with its lethal contents on his right shoulder. We gave him five minutes.
    “Rog, go,” I said.
    After two minutes, Andy and I moved off. There was no point in splitting up. If anyone asked what we were doing, I’d say we were friends of Dave’s from the army. At least we looked the part.
    “Breathing steady,” I whispered, under my breath.
    “Concentration. Be aware of what’s happening around you. Control the adrenaline rush.” That was easier said than done. Andy looked relaxed enough. I pulled a balaclava down my forehead, covering the headset straps. No one was out on the pavements. We turned rapidly onto the path that ran down the right side of Dave’s house. There were no cars in the drive and the garage doors were shut.
    “In position?” I said quietly into my mike.
    “Confirmed,” came Roger’s voice, then Pete’s.
    “Take this as the comms check,” Andy said. “Confirmed.”
    “Any sign of Dave from where you are?” I asked.
    “Negative,” said Rog. “Curtains on the front are all open, except in the sitting room. No movement.”
    “All