Ian's Gang: Morton Clavell

By Ian Kidd

In the gripping premiere to Season 7 of "Ian's Gang", Matthew Parker is investigating disappearances and various other strange happenings at an isolated and extremely bizarre boarding school in deepest, darkest Australia - a place that was once home to a cannibalistic serial killer.
Meanwhile new Ian's Gang member Sean O'Reilly finds himself the target of a chilling persecution campaign by ruthless billionaire businessman Alex Stone - a man he has never even met.
Somehow, these events are connected - and unless Ian's Gang can work out the link they may be too late to prevent an apocalyptic plot from reaching its apotheosis...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ian Kidd
• Release date: Jan 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311134271

Ian Kidd

I grew up in South Yorkshire, England, before emigrating to South Australia at the age of sixteen. My writing ambitions began as a child, when I became notorious in my class for writing short horror stories that would probably have them calling in the child psychologists nowadays! I have written everything from non-fiction ebooks to published short fiction, and served as script editor on two proposed horror feature film scripts for an LA based director. In terms of fiction I have written dozens of novellas, including more than 70 stories in the "Ian's Gang" sci-fi adventure series. I still live in Queensland, where I work as a freelance writer.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The weeks following the funeral of Lt. Chris Naucer passed quickly and without incident. Steve Botham returned to his former posting in Ian's Gang. Life gradually returned to normal in Maltby - or at least what passed for normal in Maltby. The only excitement came from the newly completed Maltby skyscraper. It seemed Alex Stone, Britain's infamous billionaire business mogul, had decided Maltby was to be his new business centre. At the press conference to mark the opening of the skyscraper, he promised A new age of prosperity, wealth and happiness for the residents of Maltby. Some viewers complained that the army officer standing behind Mr Stone at the press conference, later identified as Commander Maxwell Wilburts, kept snorting and smirking to himself at key points in Stone's speech. Whatever the reaction of the townsfolk, however, it seemed Alex Stone was in Maltby to stay.

*

Ian found Steve sitting in his room again, moodily polishing his favourite machine gun. Steve, Ian sighed. We need to talk.

No thanks, Steve grunted.

Steve, you can't keep this up, Ian pointed out. Sitting in your room, ignoring people. It's not healthy. Steve gave no indication that he was even listening. Steve!

Steve looked up. Sure you don't want to call me Richtar? he sneered.

Ian sat down by him, shaking his head. "Steve, you are not Richtar. So you were created with his genes? So what? I got my father's genes, not happy about it, but it still doesn't make me him."

That's different, Steve growled.

No, it isn't, Ian refuted. "You were a hero in Tru'fa, Steve. You rejected their attempts to corrupt you at every turn, and then you double-crossed them and helped defeat them. Those are the facts."

Maybe, Steve grunted.

Definitely, Ian told him firmly. So snap out of it. You're a good man, and a good member of Ian's Gang. I for one am glad to have you back. He rose and made to leave.

Ian, Steve said quickly. Ian paused, looking back. Thanks, Steve muttered shamefacedly.

Anytime, Ian smiled, and left.

Ian passed by the room of new Gang member Sean O’Reilly to find the young man smoothing down very posh clothes. Very swish, Sean, Ian noted. Oh, yes. It's your big date tonight, isn't it?

Yeah, Sean beamed a little sheepishly. My girl, she got a couple of days off from her station, so she's come to see me.

You must miss her, Ian acknowledged.

Yeah. Been together for years. But that's the army for you, I guess, Sean shrugged matter-of-factly.

Oh well. Have fun, Ian smiled, and left.

Sean looked at himself in the mirror. We will, he grinned.

Emily was staying in Room 6 of the Maltby Inn, and Sean ran up to the door with almost indecent excitement. When Emily had phoned to say she was coming down, Sean had made a decision. No more faffing about, this was it. He was going to ask her to marry him. He had the ring in his jacket pocket. And tonight was definitely the night. Emily! Sean called, knocking on the door. The door opened to his touch. Sean advanced into the room, feeling vaguely uneasy. Emily? Sean was beginning to get worried, when he heard a familiar sound coming from the other room. Emily's model railway set. She must be in there, playing like a little kid. No doubt about it, that girl was a loon. That was one of the reasons he loved her. Hey, Emily! Sean rushed into the other room. "I'm here, honeybunch, it's lovin’ time -" he stopped, mouth open, eyes widening, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.

His girlfriend's severed head lay on the model railway track, a massive hole in her forehead continuing through the back of her head. As Sean watched in disbelieving horror, the train buzzed cheerfully through her skull, continuing its merry way on the track. Sean's eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he collapsed in a dead faint.

* * * *

The man known as Neil was reporting to his employer on the top floor of the Maltby skyscraper.

It's done, Neil reported. Ms Watkins is dead.

Excellent, purred billionaire businessman Alex Stone, his middle-aged but handsome face exuding power and self-satisfaction. Well done, Neil. Now we can concentrate on our primary objective. He held up a framed photograph of a young man in his early twenties, with brown hair and a pug nose. Sean O'Reilly, Stone snickered, and slammed the picture face down on the desk, shattering the glass into a million fragments. I almost feel sorry for him, Stone said softly. The poor bastard doesn't stand a chance.

CHAPTER TWO

Army vehicles were surrounding the Maltby Inn and Sean was sitting in the back of one of them, a towel round his shoulders and a cup of hot sweet tea in his hands, when Ian's Gang arrived on the scene.

Ian spotted Wilburts and headed straight to him. Wilb.

Hey, Ian, Wilburts greeted him resignedly. It's not good, I'm afraid.

She's dead? Ian guessed.

Very, Wilburts noted. Decapitated.

Shit, Ian winced. How's Sean?

He's in shock, understandably, Wilburts told them. "But he'll be okay. But this is a bitch. So far, there seems to be no witnesses, no fingerprints, no forensic. This is great. He looked at the gang, and noted an absentee from their number. Where's Matthew?"

Australia, was Ian's startling reply. Well, will be soon anyhow.

Oh? What for? Wilburts inquired.

There's been some weird stuff going on at a boarding school over there, Ian informed him. Australian government asked us for help. I didn't see any reason for all of us to go traipsing over there, so I sent Matt. Probably turn out to be nothing, anyway. Whatever it is, I'm sure Matt can handle it.

The flight to New South Wales took around twenty hours, and Matthew slept for most of it. It was a haunted, restless sleep, however, filled with disturbing images. But it was the dream about Morton Clavell Boarding School that brought him awake with a start, sweating and shaking. The dream that had seen him arrive at Morton Clavell to find his parents, Scott, Sarah, Cody, Alice and Carol waiting for him. The school was for the dead, you see. Everyone there had been dead. Including him. Matthew wiped the sweat from his brow and felt his pulse rate return to normal, but could not help wondering if the dream had been some kind of omen.

Baxter's here to see you, Neil reported on the top level of the Maltby skyscraper.

Excellent, Stone smiled. Send him in.

Freddie Baxter, a middle aged man with fiery red hair, beard and moustache, entered the room, looking somewhat overwhelmed.

You may go, Neil, Stone nodded.

Sir, Neil left the room.

Sit down, Mr Baxter, sit down, Stone waved him to a chair.

Freddie sat down. You wanted to see me, Mr Stone?

Yes, Stone lit a cigar. You're the Commanding Officer over at Nottingham Army Base. I want to talk to you about one of your former officers, Sean O'Reilly.

Freddie frowned. What about him?

I want information, Stone told him. "All your files on him. Every report, every evaluation, every mark on his record. Everything."

I can't give out that sort of information, Freddie balked. It's against military law.

Will fifty thousand pounds be enough to change your law? Stone breathed.

Freddie frowned. You're bribing me?

Stone puffed on his cigar. I prefer to call it - 'making a new friend'.

Freddie narrowed his eyes. Call it a hundred thousand and we have a deal.

Stone smiled. Excellent. I'll write you a cheque.

Freddie looked at him. Just one thing... why are you so interested in O'Reilly? What did he do to you?

Stone smiled. Oh, Commander. Nosy, nosy. But never mind. It's not about what he's done to me. It's about what I'm going to do to him.

Freddie frowned.

Matthew arrived at Sydney Airport to find a man in a chauffeur's uniform holding a sign reading Matthew Parker, Morton Clavell. Matthew walked up to him. Hi, he smiled. That's me.

Really, the chauffeur didn't shake Matthew's proferred hand. Come on then, if you're coming.

Matthew followed him out to the car.

Stone looked up as Baxter returned to his office. Back so soon? he inquired.

Freddie marvelled at the man's apparently innate ability to make the most innocuous of comments sound mocking. He lifted a sheaf of papers. The Sean O'Reilly file, he said.

Excellent. Well done, Mr Baxter, Stone reached for the file.

Freddie held it back. Erm... the... compensation?

Ah. The cheque, Stone reached into his desk, retrieved it, and handed it over. Noting Freddie's careful study of it, he commented stingingly, I assure you, it won't bounce. He paused. Now...the file?

Freddie passed it to him. I hope you're not too disappointed. Apart from one minor incident when he called a senior officer a fat bastard, O'Reilly's squeaky clean. I don't know what you expect to find.

Mr Baxter, it's irrelevant to me if Sean is a sinner or a saint. Just so long as this file contains everything - professional and personal - that the army has on him, Stone told him.

It does, Freddie confirmed.

Good. That's all I wanted to hear. Information is power, Mr Baxter, Stone mused. Know thine enemy. Admirable advice. For only when you truly know everything there is to know about a person... can you totally destroy him.

CHAPTER THREE

The sleek black limousine sped with quiet efficiency down deserted bush roads as darkness fell. It seemed to Matthew that the road was becoming rougher, and that the trees around them were getting thicker, denser and darker. Once inside the car, the chauffeur had immediately raised the partition between them and said nothing for the last four hours, but now Matthew lowered it.

Yeah, what do you want? the chauffeur demanded with typical aggressiveness.

I was just wondering - how much further is the school? Matthew inquired. I mean, we're practically in bush now, aren't we?

You thick or summut? the chauffeur asked bluntly.

What?! Matthew exclaimed.

Don't you know nowt? There's another 200k of this yet, lad. I'd have thought you'd known. Morton Clavell's infamous for being in the middle of bleedin' nowhere.

Isn't that a bit... peculiar? Matthew inquired.

A bit peculiar? the chauffeur burst out laughing like Matthew had just said something outstandingly funny. Morton Clavell - a bit peculiar! Hah!

Matthew frowned. His unease about this place was rapidly growing.

*

It was about three and a half hours later, and Matthew was dozing fitfully, when the chauffeur suddenly brought the car to a sharp stop.

Huh? What the - Matthew jerked out of his slumber. His first thought was that they'd arrived at the school, but all he saw outside were more trees and the oppressive blackness of night. What's happened? Have we broken down?

No, the chauffeur told him.

Matthew was confused. You need a rest?

No.

Matthew frowned, puzzled. So why have we stopped?

This is as far as I go, the chauffeur told him.

What?! Matthew exploded. What are you talking about?

It's just another 10k, straight road. You can walk it from here, you won't get lost, the chauffeur explained.

This is crazy! Matthew gaped. It's the middle of the night in the middle of bloody nowhere! You can't just dump me here!

I can and I am, the chauffeur told him. Now get your stuff and get out.

But why? Matthew protested.

Look, pal, the Chauffeur turned around to face him. Even if I wanted to - which I don't - I can't go any further. Another minute and the car will stop working.

What?

There's some kind of weird magnetic phen - phenom - phenom... the chauffeur stumbled.

Phenomenon? Matthew guessed.

Yeah, one of those, the chauffeur nodded. Cars, TV’s, radios, phones, not'ing works at Morton Clavell. Buggers the whole lot of 'em. So I'm sorry, lad, but you're on your own from here on in.

Matthew sighed. He didn't entirely believe the chauffeur about this 'effect' - what an odd place to pitch a school if it were true - but it was obvious the chauffeur had no intention of going any further. Great. He climbed out of the car, taking his hefty two cases from the back.

Just keep walking, the chauffeur turned on the engine. Another 10k straight ahead, you'll be fine. He swung the car around. And watch out for the cannibals. He drove off quickly in the other direction.

What?! Matthew yelled after him. The guy was taking the piss, surely? Nonetheless, it was more than the cold night air that was chilling him, and with a wary glance at the dark woods, Matthew set off at a brisk pace towards Morton Clavell.

It was morning by the time Matthew reached Morton Clavell. The building itself was an imposing ediface, a