The Reluctant Killer: A Nightmare on the Streets of New York City

By Robert Durrant Author

Have you ever found yourself in a life threatening situation? Your life turned on its head where everything that once seemed so important now seems so trivial. What would you do? Fight back, take charge or simply roll over and die. What if you decide to fight for your life and slowly but surely you get on top of things, life returns to some level of normality....then bang you are faced with an even more serious threat, one completely outside your control. Can you do it again, beat the odds and get your destiny back where it belongs, in your hands.

Killers At Large in New York City

New York is no stranger to terrorist attacks, the Twin Towers atrocity is one that is burned into the minds of every single person, even the millions of people around the world, that saw the drama unfold on television and the Internet. What Mark Thorpe didn't know was that there were killers at large in the city again and that he was about to become their prisoner!

Hostages & Kidnappers

He is taken hostage and witnesses the brutality of his kidnappers as they try to negotiate the release of their comrades held in the Bagram Detention Centre in Afghanistan. They will go to any lengths to achieve their objectives and Mark witnesses the murder of innocent people caught up in this terrorist attack. Their only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

HIV & Aids

Mark has already experienced a life threatening situation, he has been there before with a serious illness that is his deepest secret. A secret he has chosen not to share with his employers or even his most intimate friends. He faced that threat with strength and courage and now, more than ever, he would need to draw on the courage that got him through his first ordeal. He was no killer but he was also not prepared to just sit back and let these terrorists take his life or the lives of any more innocent people.

Reluctant heroes don’t shout about their deeds from the rooftops, they just do what they have to do and then try to get on with their lives. Unfortunately for Mark, he was not going to be allowed to do that.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert Durrant Author
• Release date: Jan 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9791090730502

Robert Durrant Author

Robert Durrant is a native Scot living in Edinburgh the capital of Scotland.His interests are broad and includes his time spent writing fiction novels. A process that, by his own admission, can be quite challenging but also, thankfully, hugely rewarding.This is why he wrote his first novel ‘The Wake Crasher’, a humorous look at the darker side of life through the eyes of young adults struggling to make ends meet in a world where austerity is the catchphrase of the decade.Robert has a stressful job managing a large turnover and operating to tight schedules, meaning he understands the need for working to fixed dates. This has helped him to ensure he not only completed his first novel, but now has a second novel ready for publication. No doubt he has drawn on his current and previous experience to fuel the material for his fiction novels, perhaps witnessing, as a police officer, a few events the public would not be privy to.So if you enjoy 'The Wake Crasher' then be sure to look out for his second novel, a thriller called “The Reluctant Killer”, the first in a planned series.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Sometimes life can be a battle. What happens when one of those battles comes along and someone chooses to celebrate winning the fight, heads off on holiday and everything goes wrong, terribly wrong?

Mark looked at the mirror; dark weary eyes stared back after the long flight. Tired he certainly was but pleased with the way he looked: thirty year’s young, six foot, short dark hair and working out at the gym had licked his body back into shape. Happy, and wearing the smart clothes his friend Ken suggested, Mark felt good.

Coming out of the washroom on the British Airways flight into JFK Airport, New York, he heard the words, The captain has now commenced the descent into New York, please return to your seats, making sure that your seat is in the upright position and your seat belt is fastened. The flight attendant announced the flight was coming to an end.

His trepidation was incredible as he sat down in his seat and fastened the safety belt. He hated flying; it was a necessary evil for Mark but this time there was another worry.

Here we go, Mark thought to himself as the sound of the plane wheels being lowered for landing roared through the cabin. He looked out of the window and could see skyscrapers in the distance.

The plane began to touch down. Mark steeled himself for the next stage of his journey. What felt like an eternity began: First queuing to claim luggage and then queuing to go through customs.

At Immigration, his eyes were scanned and questions asked about whether it was a business or pleasure trip, where was he staying and for how long, before he found himself moving into Arrivals. Made it, went through his mind. He wanted to scream with joy but he would wait until he was in his hotel and could call contacts back home.

Mark walked out into the fresh air towards the taxi ranks. The sky was a beautiful azure blue and it felt more like summer than the beginning of November. He was oblivious to what was unfolding in downtown New York.

A few miles away at Grand Central Station, a sudden and loud burst of gunfire rang out around the building; glass and plaster came crashing down. People ran screaming and shouting for cover. It was mid-afternoon and as usual the bars, restaurants and concourses were busy. There were police everywhere and they were firing back at a group of well-dressed men in suits carrying pistols and machine guns.

Mark’s taxi ride took quite some time but that was to be expected. A few police cars with their sirens wailing went past. Mark thought nothing of it, being happy, the journey could take hours; it really would not matter, he just looked at the other cars, the buildings, the people in the streets. I love this city, was all he could think.

Don’t know what’s going on but I think there is some problem downtown, the driver drawled. I’ll try and get you as close to your hotel as I can. You might be better walking the last part. The radio is saying to avoid Grand Central Station, and you’re staying about four blocks from there.

Mark came round from his happy stupor. He did not ask why or what was happening, he was too wrapped up in the time and place.

Chapter 2

Jane Fairfax, a local high school graduate, and her grandmother, Hillary, were travelling into Grand Central Station. Looking at the city skyline, Jane thought how it dazzled in the vibrant sun. The buildings stood tall on the bright blue horizon and seemed to bask in this light. Jane just loved coming into the city from Long Island. It was not far to travel but it was worlds apart. Their carriage was filled with the noise of commuters chatting, the hum of the engine and the clatter of the wheels on the rails; Jane stared out of the window as the train approached Grand Central Terminus, the stunning entry into Manhattan for anyone travelling by rail. The building is a temple to America’s railroad system, catering not just for travellers but for city workers and dwellers who wanted to eat, drink or shop. There are several restaurants and bars.

A short while later, Jane and Hillary were heading out of Central Station, intending to lunch at the Tavern on the Green. For many years it had been the family’s favourite restaurant and, whenever the weather permitted, they would reserve a table outside, indulging in the panoramic views of Central Park. Hillary was paying: Jane had excelled at school, and her grandmother was proud of her son Tom’s daughter. They were very close.

Hillary had helped raise Jane after her parent’s divorce, Tom was awarded custody when she was only six. Hillary had just been widowed, her politician husband had passed away after a sudden heart attack and she had wanted to help her son.

Tom gave up his home during the divorce and moved in with his mother at his childhood home, a grand mid-nineteenth century house with more than enough space to take Tom, Jane . . . and quite a few other families if all his siblings wanted to come home.

Hillary became more like a mother to her granddaughter; she certainly did not look her sixty-four years, always immaculately dressed and with her dark hair colouring she looked ten years younger. Jane had her grandmother’s good looks and dress sense.

I am so hungry and can’t wait to sit down and check out the menu, Jane said, looking at her grandmother, who smiled. They were going towards the exit beside Michael Jordan’s Steak House and the smell of food was in the air.

As they reached the balcony Jane turned to look down on the main hall. There was a sound, a blast which was mind-numbing. The windows all around blew outwards. Both women felt the air hit them with such force; it was as if the floor came up and hit them. Glass was flying, and smoke, dust and masonry were all around. There had been no warning. For a few seconds there was a silence as people pulled themselves together. Then screaming and crying everywhere.

Jane felt dazed. Her mind was trying to work out why she was on the ground. She opened and tried to focus her eyes. There was dust over her arms and she was aware of her leg feeling sore. Jane noticed her left leg had a couple of cuts. Jane! Are you alright? she heard and looked around to see her grandmother beside her.

I’m okay. Okay. What happened! Are you okay? There was no time for replies.

Shut the fuck up and just do as you’re told and you won’t get hurt. Get up! Just Get Up! Both of them looked up to see a tall man with dark clothes towering over them. He was armed with what looked like a machine gun a policeman might carry.

At first, Jane was relieved. Dazed, she noticed how clean the man’s shoes were and thought he must be police. As she quickly got to her feet and put her hand out to help her grandmother up, the same voice shouted, Move it this way. Hurry, dammit!

Jane knew by his manner that this man was no friend. He was motioning them and several other people to follow him. There was no time to think; she started towards the man but felt her right leg was sore and glanced down to see a large graze. Her grandmother looked remarkably unscathed except the lower part of her dark grey coat was dust-covered. Gunshots and screaming could be heard all around. Everybody near Jane looked dazed; they gave no resistance. Nobody was quite able to work out what was going on. Jane recognised they were in Park Avenue. She now could see that the man was not alone; there were other men in dark clothes, well-dressed and all armed.

A burst of gunfire came from the left-hand-side and one of the well-dressed men’s chest exploded. Blood sprayed everywhere as his legs crumpled beneath him. Jane screamed, realising the man had just been shot in front of her. There was more shouting and screaming all around.

Move! one of the men shouted, waving his machine gun. The next order was, This way. Hurry up!

Like sheep the group followed, aware the men around them meant business. Jane recognised they were now on Fifth Avenue. There was gunfire all around. Before long, she recognised the New York Public Library. They were being ushered towards the Library and up the grand stairs to this iconic building’s entrance. A security guard was lying on the ground and the group had to step over his lifeless body. Four of the men waited until the group were inside and fired their weapons out into the street.

Before anyone could gather their thoughts, they were inside the Library’s main hall but still being forced towards another staircase. People within the Library were made to join their group. The sound of gunfire was still all around. They didn’t stop at landings. Jane could not make out if the dark-clothed men were firing at anything or just scaring people away. Hillary by now was exhausted and Jane put her arm around her.

A portly man wearing a shirt and tie came out of a corridor onto the landing ahead and just as he noticed everyone shots rang out and he fell to the ground. Another man ahead yelled Oh God, and one of the dark-clothed men swung his machine gun across striking the man’s head. He, too, crumpled to the ground.

Get up! American pig, was shouted and the second man pulled himself up. They all began to climb again, passing the portly man. Jane could see blood seeping across the ground from his body.

After what felt like an eternity they were shepherded along a corridor and into a large room with huge windows. There were sofas, chairs, even a couple of desks, it looked like a waiting room, nobody cared, all too tired and numb. Jane and Hillary made for a sofa and sat down.

One of the smart well-dressed men, a tall man with a beard and moustache and a Middle Eastern look then spoke. His heavy foreign accent came when he shouted, Just do as you are told and nothing will happen to you.

Jane turned to her grandmother and both began to reassure each other they would be all right. Hillary, a formidable woman, had always been a real rock in her family; when anything went wrong she was always there with advice, but this was different.

Chapter 3

This is as close as we can get. Enjoy your stay, came the American droll.

Mark thought it sounded sarcastic. New Yorkers are famous for their brusqueness but what the heck, he was happy, it was New York. Not caring if the driver was being rude he got out and took his holdall which had been retrieved from the boot. Fifty dollars, sir, said the driver. Mark duly paid.

Recognising where he was from previous visits he made his way up Lexington Avenue to his hotel, thinking that the Big Apple had not changed at all. Oblivious to all the NYPD personnel everywhere, he was aware of the sirens and the sound of a helicopter. This is New York, Mark thought, where it is always noisy and full on.

Arriving at the hotel, he strolled past a group of people all of whom appeared to be rather excited and having intense conversations. Mark mumbled to himself, Must be their first time here, tourists, forgetting he was a visitor too.

Good Afternoon, Sir. Welcome to the Mount Rushmore Hotel. How can I help you? the young man behind the reception desk asked. Do you have a reservation? followed before Mark could reply to the first question.

Yes, Mark Thorpe, Mark replied, before another quick-fire question was asked.

Any trouble getting here? There has been trouble at Central Station. Not sure what’s going down. Been told its terrorists or something like it. There have been shoot-outs and one guy says they have hostages. Sounds bad, the young receptionist explained.

The cab driver dropped me off a couple of blocks away. He told me something was wrong but I’ve had no bother. All’s cool, Mark replied, wishing he’d used another word, so 1990’s he thought to himself.

Ten minutes later, Mark was all checked in and in the lift with a bellboy on his way to the fifteenth floor. He was just happy to be in the city he loved, not caring about what might be happening at Central Station.

‘Ding, ding!’ went the floor bell as the lift came to a halt. This way, the bellboy said. He appeared to be very quiet and short of conversation compared to the guy in reception who just kept speaking, asking questions but not waiting for a reply. Soon the bellboy stopped, unlocked and opened a door and walked into a room.

Mark followed him. This is your room, sir, the bellboy said before explaining the instruction for using the television and when and where to find everything in the room and hotel.

Thank you, Mark said as he handed over five dollars and the bellboy was gone.

I’m here! I’m really here, he said falling back on his bed and staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifted. It was not his first time in the Big Apple but it was the first trip since he was diagnosed with HIV. Articles back home in the gay press had pointed out how ruthless the Immigration had been, deporting you as fast as they could if you were found to have HIV. The American government had now legislated to allow entry for people with HIV. Mark was frightened, hoping things had really changed since Obama became President. With his presidential campaign for Change in 2008, would he loosen up the rules? As far as Mark was concerned, that was still to be seen.

**~**

To look at Mark nobody would know how ill he had been. Ken, his friend, was the only one he trusted and apart from him, only medical staff and his counsellor knew. He had first taken ill in 2001 and had thought it was a bout of heavy flu. After several doctor visits and separate times when he had been off work, he eventually became very ill. Breathing had become difficult, he could not walk further than a few feet, and night sweats had been making his life unbearable when he tried to sleep.

When Ken drove him to the doctor that day, there was only one option for the doctor and that was to refer Mark to hospital. Ken left him at the receiving area to the hospital. Medical staff explained to Mark that he was very ill and would have to be admitted. A young male doctor in the holding ward where all new patients stayed came to see him.

After introducing himself the doctor asked Mark if he was gay. The reply was in the affirmative. The doctor then asked if he had ever had a test for HIV. This time the reply was no. The young doctor explained to Mark that he was very sick and medical staff wanted to check everything out to help them treat him. He asked if Mark would take a test for HIV. Mark was so ill and fed up he would have agreed to anything. He was told that a counsellor was on the way to explain the HIV test and then take a blood sample from him.

Hi, my name’s Anne Jones. I am the HIV/AIDS counsellor. Mark looked up to see a lady in her fifties, slim with an abundance of dark greying hair. She was dressed in casual but smart top and jeans. Little did he know then how much this Anne Jones was going to mean to him from now on.

Anne walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed, her voice was peaceful, Mark thought. He did not listen to all she was saying; she repeated a lot of what the doctor had said and explained she would take blood from him and hoped to return later that day with the result. Mark felt at peace with her as she produced a needle and plastic gloves. The procedure was over within a few minutes and the woman disappeared leaving Mark to his thoughts. It took about an hour before the enormity of what had just occurred struck home and then began the long wait as he laboured with the thoughts that he could have HIV. He had only had unsafe sex a couple of times, both times he had been blind drunk and let his lust for someone rule his sense. He lay on the bed wanting the result back as soon as possible. He thought, Just get this over with. Tell me I am clear of HIV and then tell me what is really wrong with me. Mark felt alone, vulnerable and his breathing was becoming more difficult.

After what felt like an eternity Anne Jones returned, and there was another woman with her. This lady looked in her