THE BLAZING STAR - FIRST CHAPTER

My latest book, THE BLAZING STAR, is nearly finished and should be available in about three months.

This is the first chapter. It is unedited so please excuse errors.

Darkness surrounded the sprawling ranch buildings with thick clouds suggesting a threat of rain. On the front verandah a pair of ancient wicker chairs scraped boards as they shifted in the stiff breeze swirling through white painted timbers. The scritch-scritch of mesquite leaves somersaulting over the dry yard and the rustle of spindly branches in a nearby grove did nothing to disguise the distant rhythmical clanging of pumped money being made. 

Slumped in front of the chairs a huge dog slept with ears pricked. Its head suddenly lifted. Woken, by a dull thud disturbing the natural harmony making him suddenly look up. A low growl and his head swept around to the far corner of the building. He stood but before he could bark a warning a thwip sound and a near silent yelp as a dart struck his neck. Collapsing, he drifted into a drug induced haze.

Out of the darkness two figures emerged. Both in black. Both wearing masks. One rested a dart gun on the top verandah step and pulled a 9mm automatic. “Dumb fucking mutt,” he muttered as he stroked the dog’s head and glanced at the camera and chuckled. Stared at the dark house, “Dumb fucks, there’re all asleep,” he said.

The other knelt by the house door and worked the lock. Pushed the door. Slipped inside and pulled a similar gun from a shoulder holster. The alarm sounded. Meaningless except to wake the inhabitants. The remote, sprawling ranch too far from any other property. The siren wailed as the first figure sprinted up the stairs. Reaching the landing he slipped into a linen cupboard but left the door ajar. The second moved towards the door to the kitchen area but did not go through.

Outside, a shotgun blast and yelling broke the silence. Movement on the landing. Boxers and a t-shirt emerged from a bedroom. A tall, well built man his shotgun pointed forward. Flicked a light switch as another door opened. More boxers and t-shirt. A younger man joined the tall man at the top of the stairs and side by side they started down. Seeing the man by the kitchen door the tall man stopped and raised the shotgun. 

Moving from the cupboard the first man grated, “Drop it.” The tall man hesitated, “Drop it,” growled the man as he took a couple of steps down and touched his gun to the tall man’s head. Reached around and took the weapon. Looked the younger man in the eyes and saw fear. Grinned inside the mask as he broke the gun and slung the cartridges over the bannister. 

The entrance hall dimness dissolved as the kitchen door swung wide bringing a subtle smell of chilli and another shotgun. A stocky man, short dark hair. The second man still standing there didn’t speak but pushed his 9mm into the man’s back. Hesitation. A glance at the tall man who shook his head. The gun in his back prodded hard with meaning. The shotgun dropped. 

The first figure placed the shotgun on the landing and nudged the tall man. Hesitation. A harder push forced them down to join the man from the kitchen in the entrance hall. The first man said, “The safe please, Mr Macmasters.” Hudson Macmasters didn’t move. “In your office,” the man prompted.

Macmasters pushed his face close so the man felt spit,  “Get lost, you bum.” 

The man sighed, “Don’t make me get fucking rough,” and pointed his gun at Macmaster’s son.

One glance told Macmasters how things stood. Professionals on a mission who will get it done whatever it takes.

“Both of you,” the man said and they moved into the study, “I know where it is. Open it.”

Macmasters tried to grab the man’s arm and coldly said, “Never.”

The man slapped his hand away and sighed again, “You fucking Texans make me laugh. Tough and stubborn enough to get you dead. Now, the safe please and don’t make me laugh again.” The gun flashed into Macmaster’s face.

“Shoot me and you’ll never get it open.”

Suddenly annoyed, the man snapped, “Not you,” and the gunshot echoed through the whole house. Macmaster’s son slumped against the antique oak desk. “A flesh wound, nothing but a slight clip of his arm muscle. Next it’s a kneecap. Open it.”

Macmasters glanced at his son and saw him grimace as he gripped his arm. Swinging back a section of wood panelling on the wall behind the desk Macmasters tapped in the numbers, “Take the cash,” he said, “there’s over a million.”

“We intend to and The Blazing Star,” the man grinned inside his mask. 

“You won’t get away,” Macmaster’s said, “the bunk house…”

“Is sealed up tightly. You must’ve heard the shotgun,” the man said.

“I can guess who you work for,” Macmasters tried to sound tough.

“That’s not something you want to tell me,” and his gun pressed against Macmaster’s temple.

Pushing it away and staring into eye slits, Macmasters said, “Punks like you don’t frighten me.”

“You're a Texan I’d expect nothing less.”

“And when I find you…”

“I’ll buy you a beer and we can have a chat about how you want to die.” Then he shouted, “Bring him in.” The second man appeared with the man from the kitchen. “Hands behind, please,” and he zip-tied their wrists.

Locking the study door behind them, as they walked out past the sleeping dog the first man whistled and heard two shotgun blasts shatter glass. Horses in a nearby stable whinnied. Picking up the dart gun they moved across the lawn, down the slope to a pickup truck. Firing up they bounced along a dusty track for a couple of miles past rows of nodding donkeys to the main road where they changed clothes and switched to a standard saloon.

The men in the bunkhouse stayed less than five of the fifteen they had been instructed to wait. Paused outside but their assailants had already melted into the darkness so they rushed to the house. After Macmasters had made sure the women of the house were safe he bandaged his son’s arm, sat behind his desk and picked up an ancient flintlock pistol. Twirled it in his hand, “This goes back five generations, back as far as The Star.”

“Any ideas,” his son asked.

“A few, but I’ll find it regardless. The Blazing Star is worth way more than any amount of dollars and I’ll get it back even if I have to chase halfway around the world to find it.”

Nearly a year later a woman stood outside the rear of a Regency mansion on a quiet street in Holland Park, London waiting for the tall Texan to arrive. The one who had appeared at her estate agency office five days previously asking to rent this property. It had been an unusual request, to rent without viewing, but the Texan had simply said it was perfectly placed, in an exclusive area, in a quiet street. It was even more unusual to pay six months in advance, the term to commence in five days so please make sure it was fully supplied and handed the lady a list.

Stepping back out of the way she brushed her hand over her black suit jacket and straightened her wind blown hair as she watched the silver Mercedes swing into one of the two parking spaces and the driver step onto the concrete hard standing. A stocky man, short dark hair, grey suit over black v-neck t-shirt. Tanned face with deep birds feet indicating years of squinting into strong sunlight. The quick glance he cast around satisfied him so he opened the rear door.

“Good morning Mr Macmasters,” The lady said and watched him step out and remove his large white stetson.

“Thank you,” Macmasters replied, "punctuality is always appreciated,” Reaching into the car he retrieved a folio case. “Is everything ready?” he asked as he replaced the stetson.

“As you requested. Please, follow me and I’ll show you the house.” She glanced at the driver.

Macmasters explained, “This is Morgan. He’ll be my contact with you if there are any problems.”

The handover didn’t take long; Hudson was more interested in the security system than anything else. The house was as expected; lavishly furnished. Ground floor kitchen, dining room and a couple of other rooms that were of no interest.

“Do these doors lock?” Hud asked.

“Yes, all the internal doors lock. The keys are in the kitchen.”

Morgan disappeared as Hud and the lady took the wide sweeping staircase to the main rooms. Sitting room, reception and study with the bedrooms on the next floor. Hudson lingered in the study and asked about the wall safe. That was all he needed to know, he’d seen enough and the lady left.

Morgan appeared and said, “I’ve locked all the doors to the rooms we don’t need and the kitchen’s stocked as we asked. So, Hud, what about lunch?”

“Something simple please, Morgan. I’ll be in here for a while.”

As Morgan left, Hudson changed the safe code and locked the contents of the case inside. A few papers and passports but mostly cash and a lot of it. One folded paper he kept out. A house blueprint which he smoothed flat on the desk and worked through the layout. How to get into that place would need careful planning and people with special talents. He knew the solution, the question was how to get them on board but, as always, he was sure money would provide the incentive. The problem was how to find them. Two men he had employed had arrived a couple of weeks before him. He would leave it up to them. It was what they specialised in and had given their personal guarantee. They would locate them, persuade them and make sure their task was completed.