Licence To Depart

By Alex Sumner

Nichola Peterson, ex-policewoman is at the lowest point of her fortunes: her career in ruins, forcibly separated from the man she loves, and powerless to stop a criminal mastermind from wreaking havoc. Then the mysterious Magus appears, offering her one last chance of redemption.

Suddenly - a shot rings out...

This is the third book in the "Magus" trilogy.

Suitable for adult readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Sumner
• Release date: May 13, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458115225

Alex Sumner

I am a novelist and writer on the Occult. After having written several non-fiction articles for the Journal of the Western Mystery Tradition, in 2009 I came out with my first novel. My books to date are: * Eternal Witch (2018) * A Fairy Story By Any Other Name (2014) * Taromancer (2013) "The Magus Trilogy" * The Magus (2009) * Opus Secunda (2010) * Licence To Depart (2011) "The Demon Detective, and other stories." * The Demon Detective (short story: 2011) * A Greater Power (short story: 2011) * Shall We Kill The President? (novella: 2012) I am also an amateur astrologer, tarot reader, and ceremonial magician. I am currently at work on both further novels and screenplays. I live in Essex, England.

Book preview

1

‘Beachy Head is a chalk headland on the south coast of England, close to the town of Eastbourne in the county of East Sussex. The cliff there is the highest chalk sea cliff in Britain, rising to 162m (530 ft) above sea level. The peak allows views of the south east coast from Dungeness to the east, to Selsey Bill in the west. Its height has also made it a notorious suicide spot.’

Nichola put down her iPhone and took another sip of her Cranberry Bacardi Breezer, feeling miserable. She looked out of the restaurant window : beyond the car-park she could just about see the same cliff-edge which she had just read about on the internet. She sighed.

What’s wrong ? a child’s voice said. Nichola looked up. A young boy of about five years old had come up to her. He had a vaguely Arabic look, with light brown skin, dark hair and dark staring eyes. You look sad ! he said.

Who are you ? Where’s your mummy and daddy ? Nichola said – wishing that wherever they were they would relieve her of this sprog.

Is that thing making you sad ? the boy said, pointing to her iPhone.

No ! I’m just using it to surf the internet, she replied.

What’s that ? he asked.

I’m looking up information, she said irritatedly.

I think you should look up … crocodiles ! the boy exclaimed.

This struck Nichola as being à propos of nothing. Why ? she asked.

Because I like crocodiles ! the boy continued, warming to what seemed like his favourite theme. I like playing with them.

Now I hardly think you would, Nichola said. " My God, what am I doing ? " she thought. I’m trying to have a reasoned argument with a five-year-old boy ! She turned and put her iPhone away in her hand-bag beside her, whilst she carried on talking. The only time a crocodile would play with you is if it wanted to eat you – what the -

She glanced round and did a double-take. The boy had disappeared. She looked around in all directions but could not see where he had got to. Thinking perhaps that he might have hidden under a table, she bent down and looked around as well, but still saw nothing. How odd, she thought.

Hi there, a man’s voice said. You look as if you could do with some company.

Nichola arose from her sub-tabular position to ascertain the identity of this newest person to interrupt her train of thought. A thin young man possibly in his late twenties, standing just a few feet away from her, met her view. The nearest light in the pub shone from directly behind his head, from her point of view.

Did you just see a young boy go by ? she said, straining her eyes to make out his silhouetted features.

No ! the newcomer said. Why, is he yours ? Have you lost him ?

No, she said, putting the thought of the crocodile-loving scamp out of mind. " So, what do you want ?"

The man appeared not be fazed by Nichola’s brusque mode of address. " I just observed that you appeared to be alone and in need of some company, perhaps.

Nichola stared at him : he did not seem desperately ugly, but he looked like no Adonis either. His clothes looked far too bland. Oh no – he would never do. " Do I look like someone who’s on the pull ? " she said.

No ! he exclaimed. " You look like a woman who’s … on edge, as it were. I’m the Reverend Robert Faulks from the Beachy Head Chaplaincy."

This startled Nichola. She alternately frowned and stared at the idea that a minister of religion wanted to talk to her. " Not impossible," she supposed. " Probably just recently ordained."

A priest ? she said. What are you doing here ?

This pub being next to one of the world’s most notorious suicide spots, the Reverend Faulks explained, it’s often the case that people who want to end it all come in here for alcoholic preparation.

Really ? Nichola said. Is it that bad ?

Oh yes, the Reverend said. He paused, before adding : Although technically the last person to die was on all accounts perfectly happy. He just happened to look over the edge when PUFF ! A gust of wind took him.

Nichola snorted, trying not to laugh out loud. Goodbye cruel world, hello Darwin Awards dot com, she said, her mood partially lifting. So let me get this straight. You’re telling me all this because –

The young priest gulped before speaking : Members of our team keep watch in here in case someone's drinking heavily.

Nichola flared up. " I am not drinking heavily ! She motioned to her drink. This is my first ! " she lied.

So you’re not feeling depressed or anything ? he pressed.

Well, she began : then she noticed that her interlocutor casting glances at the chair opposite her – he had remained standing all this time. She motioned him to take a seat, which he did, mumbling his thanks.

" I admit I have had my share of troubles, Nichola explained. I was sacked from my job as a homicide detective a year ago, and have been having to eke out a living doing temping work since. A criminal mastermind whom I had been tracking is still out there, free to carry out his evil plans."

The image of shambling thugs, more dead than alive, bearing down on her in the darkness, briefly popped into her mind’s eye. She shuddered.

Also, she continued, brightening up, I fell in love with and almost immediately had to separate from the most perfect man I had ever met. Not because we broke up, but he has had to go into hiding for fear of his life.

The Reverend Faulks sensed Nichola’s slight upturn in her mood. Then surely there’s something positive in your life ? he said. Some ray of hope ?

Well … yes, Nichola said. The sex between me and my boyfriend was absolutely amazing, she said, warming to her theme. He drove me WILD in bed ! she exclaimed. Foreplay – multiple orgasms – female ejaculation – doing it again and again. My God ! It was like the kind of sex you fantasize about when you are a teenager ! She smiled at the happy memory. Actually I’m making myself quite randy thinking about it now, she said, as if in a trance.

Erm… the Reverend stammered.

You see, she explained earnestly, now quite forgetting herself. He had amazing technique and stamina – and of all the men I have ever had sex with, he had THE most enormous –

The Reverend Robert Faulks coughed suddenly.

The sound jolted Nichola out of her reverie. She had that pleasant warm feeling as a woman does when she first starts to get turned on : the frisson of electricity that surges and thrills as if at the slightest, most gentle, lover’s touch.

So she found it disconcerting to remember that she sat in the middle of a crowded pub. Opposite a priest, no less.

Vicar ! she said. You seem to be red in the face ! Are you feeling alright ?

Yes, yes, the Reverend said, trying to pretend away his acute embarassment. He cleared his throat. Well it appears to me that you’re not in any immediate danger, he said. He fished in his pocket for a business card. Perhaps I could leave you this all the same ? If you feel you don’t need it yourself, you could pass on my details to someone who does ? He got up, awkwardly.

Oh yes of course, Vicar, Nichola said. Are you off ?

Yes I’m off home for the evening, he said, crouched forward unnaturally, cringing with embarrassment – and longing. But not before I get myself a stiff drink, the Reverend said. He scuttled off.

" What a strange man," Nichola thought as she peered briefly at his departing figure. No wonder the Church of England is going down-hill these days. She took another sip from her Cranberry Bacardi Breezer.

Another image came before her mind’s eye, but this time it comprised hot, passionate sex with Gary her lover. Lust burned her insides like a wild-fire as she remembered how much they been all over each other. His strong hands grasping at her naked body whilst thrusting deeper and deeper. She – abandoning herself completely and utterly to wanton pleasure. And then – they had taken it further, to another level entirely – something spiritual – magical even.

Mmmm … Nichola murmured, as she involuntarily lapsed back into a day-dream. Her eyes half-closed…

Ah, Nichola ! Or should I say – ‘Sally ?’

She recognised this new man’s voice instantly. Its sound filled her with a mixture of wonder and trepidation. Her eyes flicked open. There, in front of her, in place of the the young priest, stood the unmistakeable figure of a man she knew only as The Magus. He appeared to be a slim, dapper man in his sixties. He smiled at her.

" Eek ! You ! she cried. Not knowing his real name, she generally addressed him in this fashion. What do you want ?"

The Magus looked deflated. I suppose being pleased to see me would be too much to ask for ?

Sorry, she mumbled, catching herself taking her bad mood out on him. She gestured for him to sit down in the seat recently vacated by the priest. " But I must ask … why exactly are you here ?"

I’m here to give you important news ! the old man said cheerily, taking his place across the table from Nichola. And offer you the opportunity to finally sort out all your problems.

Nichola frowned. I’m wary of you constantly appearing in my life, she said. Every time I get involved in one of your schemes, someone I love either gets brutally beaten, is forcibly separated from me – or is killed.

You’re thinking of Detective Inspector Croft, I take it ? the Magus said.

And Gary.

I can appreciate your unease, he said. And moreover you’re completely right. I had hoped that you’d remember our encounters as occasions when you find a new level of appreciation for all things spiritual.

This intrigued Nichola. " I’m completely right ? You mean – you know someone's going to die ?"

The Magus frowned. Please, it's not a nice thought. I foresee you’ll be regretting it in - He looked at his watch : a look of worry passed over his face. Just over two minutes’ time.

What do you mean ? Nichola asked.

You'll see in a moment. Now – The Magus adopted a sense of urgency – almost as if he felt agitated. Do you know what the big news story was today ?

Well let’s see, Nichola said. Apart from the usual stuff about the sub-prime mortgage crisis, which has got the words ‘RECESSION IMMINENT’ stamped all over it in letters so big that everyone in the whole world apart from the Government can read it – and the break-down of the situation in Russia and the Middle East … there was a Tory MP who died in a bizarre case of auto-erotic asphyxiation ! She looked pleased at remembering all this from watching the news. Then she frowned. " It’s all a case of plus ça change, isn’t it ?"

The Magus ignored her cynicism. Very good, but no. The most important news story didn’t appear on the front pages today. It was the fact that a certain defence contractor has won a major tender to supply healthcare to NATO’s armed forces.

Nichola could see the Magus’ earnestness, but failed to understand the importance of such a news story. So what has this to do with me ? Or indeed anything else for that matter.

The Magus looked her straight in the eye. One of the directors of the defence contractor is none other than the man you had been investigating before being forced out of your job at Scotland Yard - Sir William True – the Magus added with a touch of irony – the billionaire philanthropist.

No ! she exclaimed in disbelief.

Yes ! the Magus replied. He paused. Rather convenient that that Tory MP died today of all days – thus getting this little nugget about a defence contract buried in the middle of the papers. Don’t you say ? The Magus looked at Nichola significantly. Couldn’t have worked out better for Sir William if he had arranged it himself !

Now Nichola looked at him interested. So what are you saying ?

" He did arrange it himself," the Magus said simply.

No ! she exclaimed in disbelief – again.

Yes ! the Magus countered. Look time’s running out, he said, taking on an increased air of urgency, so I’ll cut a long story short. I believe Sir William is now ready for the final phase of whatever it is he’s got planned. It’ll be up to you to stop him.

No ! she exclaimed, denying him a third time.

YES ! the Magus raised his voice – but immediately forced himself to calm down. Look, I have all the information you need back at home. The address is in my wallet, whilst my keys are in my left trouser pocket.

What are you talking about ? Nichola said, failing to see why she needed to know where he kept his house keys.

One more thing, the Magus said, speaking rapidly. About Gary -

Excitement filled Nichola. What ? she asked desperately.

The Magus opened his mouth to speak – but a thought occurred to him. He looked at his watch. Oh dear, he said. He took a large gulp of air – like an incredible sob – and suddenly stood up.

Immediately the noise of a loud bang, and a window breaking simultaneously, punctured the atmosphere of the restaurant. The Magus convulsed in pain. For a moment he stood completely still … but then he started to lean forward heavily – falling -

Nichola heard gasps from around the restaurant as diners re-acted to the unfolding events. She tried to steady the Magus, but he collapsed on the table, sending her drink flying.

She looked down at the Magus’ back and saw that he had begun to bleed profusely from a bullet-hole, from where he had just been shot.

2

Nichola’s police training kicked in immediately : she took a firm grasp of the Magus’ body and instinctively pulled him to a prone position in the aisle of the restaurant. If a gunman did lurk outside, she wanted both her and the Magus in such a position that the assailant could not get a clear second shot. She chanced a brief look over her shoulder. She saw the broken window twenty feet away - still uncomfortably close for Nichola’s liking.

She darted her eyes ahead and saw that a low partition, put in place to demarcate the restaurant area from the rest of the pub, formed a barrier which could prevent the putative gunman getting a line of sight on the Magus from outside. The Magus needed first aid and fast, but she knew that as higher a priority in the immediate short-term she had to get the victim – and everyone else, including herself – out of danger. She heaved with all her might – reserves of energy coming as only a feeling of dire emergency can bring – and pulled the Magus to what she assumed was safety.

Get down, everyone ! she shouted as she dragged the old man’s body into cover. There’s a gun-man outside ! Someone call an ambulance !

She finally managed to pull the Magus behind the wooden partition. Darling ! Nichola whispered, as he lay in an undignified heap, too weak to move. Darling … can you hear me ?

The Magus did not respond, but murmured something incoherent. He breathed very shallowly.

"ABC," Nichola thought remembering her basic first-aid, but not necessarily conscious. Taking no chances, she turned the Magus over and put him in the recovery position.

She applied her full attention to the bullet wound. She saw a large hole in the Magus’ coat, just below where Nichola guessed as the bottom of his left shoulder-blade. Blood seeped out. Nichola instinctively pressed down on it to staunch the flow, but she knew that she needed something else.

Has anyone got a plastic bag ? she shouted without looking round. I need to seal the wound with a plastic bag, so that he doesn’t get a collapsed lung.

She allowed herself a brief look around the restaurant – and did a double-take : the other diners, instead of being galvanised into action, stood about staring at her in a tableau of bewilderment. That they did not exactly leap to help her initially shocked Nichola– but then amazement overcome her. They’re standing about ! Don’t they realise that there might still be a gun-man nearby ?

Has someone got a plastic bag ? Anyone ? Some of the diners looked at one another in a state of confusion.

Nichola despaired – and then suddenly had an idea. In all the excitement she realised that she still had her handbag with her over her shoulder. She took it off and looked sadly at it for a moment : Louis Vuitton – very nice, an indulgence she had bought for herself when she still had a Scotland Yard detective’s salary. She. If it can’t be a plastic bag, it will have to be designer leather instead, she thought. She jammed it against the Magus’ wound, attempting to prevent any air being sucked in. She almost felt physically pained to have to say goodbye to her favourite handbag in order to save a man’s life, but … needs must.

Has someone actually called an ambulance ! she shouted again. She focussed on one man who stood nearby. You ! she said, in the tone of someone assuming command. Help me –

The man onto whom she had shifted her attention suddenly snapped out of his self-imposed trance. Eh ? Oh I don’t want to get blood on my clothes ! he exclaimed, and backed away out of sight.

Nichola opened her mouth to protest at this craven display – but astonishment caused nothing came out. She stared about wildly.

‘Ere, are you holding him right ? a woman piped up from slightly behind Nichola’s line of sight. Won’t that cause more bleeding ?

Nichola did not have time for this. I’m a police officer, she lied – not wanting to argue the toss about the fact that she had left the force. I know about gunshot victims, alright ? she said brusquely.

Well I was only asking ! the woman said, piqued.

Nichola stared about again, looking for someone who looked as if they might be in charge. Has anyone called the ambulance ?

I mean there’s no reason to be so rude. The same woman to whom Nichola had just spoken strove intently to get her oar in.

Madame, a female voice with a continental accent called out. Your food is ready.

Nichola suddenly realised that the voice had come from a waitress –addressing her. She stared at the young girl as if expecting her to notice the predicament that currently occupied her.

I beg your pardon ? Nichola said.

I said there’s no reason to be so rude – the uptight woman persisted.

Your food, the waitress said. It is ready !

Look, if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem. Now FUCK OFF ! Nichola said. The uptight woman flounced away.

Are you talking to me ? the waitress said.

No ! Nichola exclaimed. Then she thought again : Actually, yes ! I’m trying to save this man’s life ! I can’t bloody well eat that now !

You want to send it back to the chef ? the waitress said, not understanding the finer points of what Nichola tried to convey.

Yes. No ! Nichola corrected herself. Look I’m trying to give first aid to this man here. I can’t eat anything at the moment.

You want chef to keep it warm for you ? the waitress said.

Don’t you understand ? Nichola cried. Are you foreign or something ?

Yes I am ! the waitress exclaimed, firing up. And I will thank you not to dis – par – aaarge me or I will ‘ave you under ze race relations –

At that moment, a man, judging by his uniform a member of the managerial staff of the pub, came up to the waitress and tapped her on the shoulder. Anya ! Not now. Back to the kitchen ! he ordered. The waitress slunk away.

The manager turned to Nichola. Madame, one of my colleagues is on the phone to the ambulance, they should be not more than five minutes, he said. Also, when we mentioned that you thought it was a gunshot, the ambulance control said they would call the police as well.

Nichola felt relieved, as if she had just survived a season in purgatory. Thank you, she said.

The manager turned to all those standing about. Now, ladies and gentlemen if you would all make way – we need clear access for the paramedic staff when they arrive – He tactfully managed to shoo the crowd of gawpers away.

Nichola adjusted her grasp of the handbag which she wused to plug the Magus’ wound. He appeared to be breathing - albeit very shallowly. His face looked deathly white.

You saved others, Nichola murmured to the man who had always struck her as so in control, so omniscient. Can you not save yourself ?

She then remembered what the old man had told her immediately before being shot. She found his house-keys in his left trouser pocket as he had told her : she then searched for the wallet, eventually finding it inside his jacket. Easy does it, she thought, easing out the wallet. Can’t risk any further injury –

‘Ere ! a nosey bystander piped up. He had obviously seen Nichola going through the Magus’ pockets. Are you meant to be doing that ?

Yes as a matter of fact ! Nichola snapped. Mentally she flailed about, but quickly an idea came to her. I need to check his identification and also if he is on any medication or has a medical condition which the paramedics need to be aware of.

The man backed away.

" Where, oh where, could that ambulance be ? " She thought back to Hendon, when she underwent training in how to deal with gunshot wounds. He needs to be on way to hospital in no more than ten minutes.

At that moment she heard the distinctive noise of sirens outside. Nichola perked up. She waited tensely. Now that she knew the paramedic staff were actually here, the last few moments of waiting until they took over were almost unbearable. Time seemed to slow down…

Clear the way, there ! Coming through –

Nichola looked up and saw two burly paramedics wearing luminous jackets over green uniforms striding purposefully towards her.

Is this the patient ? the first Paramedic said. Excuse me, Madame.

I’m using this to make sure air doesn’t get into the wound ! Nichola explained, indicating her bag.

Thanks, we have sterile occlusive dressings for that, he replied. What’s his name ?

Uh… Nichola stammered. I don’t know.

Without missing a beat, the paramedic leant close to the Magus. Sir ! Can you hear me ?

The Magus did not respond. The paramedic leant close and checked for breathing, whilst feeling for a pulse. I’m detecting breath and a pulse but very weak, he said to his colleague. He turned to Nichola. You did the right thing by putting him in the recovery position and sealing the wound.

Thanks, Nichola said.

The paramedic, though, had no time for small-talk. He’s unresponsive, no exposure, obviously. he said to his colleague. He turned back to Nichola. What happened to him ?

Gun-shot approximately five minutes ago, Nichola replied.

The paramedic flexed his eyebrows in surprise. Where’s the gun, now ? Where’s the gunman ?

" He was outside in the car park, Nichola said quickly, not wanting to waste the paramedics’ time. He’s only fired one shot. I don’t know what’s happened to him."

The paramedic frowned, but wasted no time. Do you know if he has any medical history ? Allergies ? Medications ? he continued.

Not that I know of, Nichola replied.

Oxygen ! the first paramedic said to his colleague : luckily however the second paramedic knew the established procedure, and already had an oxygen canister with a non-rebreather mask to hand, which he fitted over the Magus’ face.

Intubation ? the second paramedic asked.

Worry about that in the ambulance, the first replied. ECG and oximeter !

Right here, the second said, smoothly scooping out some portable electronic equipment designed to monitor the patient’s vital signs. He rapidly attached them to the Magus.

Meanwhile the first paramedic removed the Magus’ coat and shirt. Nichola gasped at the sight of the wound in the Magus’ back, and at the blood. The second paramedic handed the first a proper dressing which the latter used to seal up the wound : his colleague gave him three strips of surgical tape