Miracle Cure

By George Lockie

A miracle drug hits the British market, promising amazing new progress in the treatment of difficult skin disorders. The source and supplier of this mysterious drug is unknown; what is known is that whoevers behind it has a lot of cash and clout. When a train derailment leads to the disappearance of a shipment, authorities get involved.

Rory Glassen and MI5 are on the trail of who might want to steal the skin treatmentand the theft is getting more suspicious by the second. Soon, they uncover the possible involvement of a large criminal organization. The deeper Rory digs into the medication and the crime syndicate, the more he realizes it isnt just about the train heist.

As Rory goes up against kidnappers and killersall hell bent on keeping their true intentions secretthe crime gang effectively shakes off every allegation. But Rory wont give up. To find justice, he will be ruthless and relentless, in spite of terrible repercussions and a clever, cruel enemy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Oct 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781452531229

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

CONNED

A Friday night in Scotland, it was, as long as anyone could remember, always considered the man’s night out. The one occasion when he could leave his wife and family at home and meet with his friends in his local pub, for a good drink and engage in discussions on recent events of interest. Needless to say on this particular summer’s Friday night, which had a warm balmy evening breeze blowing outside and particularly as it was in one of the best pubs in the Edinburgh’s historic High Street, there was standing room only inside. In addition to the many locals enjoying a good pint of beer there was a fair crowd of tourists and visitors to ‘Auld Reeky’. The nickname was given to Edinburgh in reference to the time long ago when coal was the only available fuel. The city was smothered in clouds of acrid smoke from the many tenements chimneys that crowded the slopes of both sides of the Royal Mile, the main thoroughfare from the castle to the Royal residence of Holyrood Palace at that time. Since then, Edinburgh had grown into quite a large city spreading down to the Port of Leith and out to the Pentland Hills.

Deacon Brodie’s Pub had a prime location at the top of the High Street and was renowned for its good beer, with a guaranteed warm reception from the landlord and staff. On this particular Friday night they were all run off their feet, as the patrons’ thirst demanded constant slaking. The chairs and tables along three walls were full as was the group of smaller tables in front. The long bar taking up the fourth wall, also was three people deep, most sitting on bar stools close to the high ledges around the pillars. The babble of voices was quite loud and infectious, it seemed everybody was talking at once. The big front door was thrown open, letting in a small welcoming breeze and the noise of the passing traffic. Large front windows let in lots of sunlight, highlighting the chessboard style tiles in the timbered roof. It was a normal Friday on an exceptionally nice evening by Edinburgh standards and one begging to be taken advantage of. The biggest percentage of customers were naturally male all enjoying each others company and the wonderful ambience created by a pub that dated back hundreds of years in this marvellous city. It was rumoured that Louis Stevenson had penned Treasure Island while seated at his usual chair in one corner of the pub. The house, where he lived, was only a few yards further up the Royal Mile, up a narrow staircase with small windows and a local landmark with the tourists.

Traffic travelled up the Mound from Princess Street passing the Royal Bank. It was one of the two main thoroughfares from the New Town, as Georgian Edinburgh was called, to the Cannongate and the old part of the city, which meant they passed the pub’s very doorstep. This ensured a huge number of potential clients entered the pub’s doors every day, as well as the thousands of tourists visiting one of the best examples of a working castle in all of Europe. Edinburgh Castle dominating the skyline, just a few hundred yards further up. Deacon Brodie’s was the first pub you encountered on your journey back down the High Street after your visit. The cobble roadway and old buildings had not changed in hundreds of years as result of strict heritage listing and a very observant council. Dominated by St. Giles Cathedral a vast gothic edifice across the way Deacon Bodie’s looked directly down the narrow High Street. This historic narrow road was steeped in history and intrigue, with many stories from its colourful past proving a boon for the thousands of eager tourists, who thronged every inch, soaking up the stories and seeking some small item to remember it by.

One lone traveller in amongst the crowd in the pub was enjoying the experience, downing his second pint of heavy beer as he contemplated his next move. It was his first visit to Edinburgh attending one of the many conferences in its excellent facilities and he had been impressed by everything he had seen. Tonight, he had decided to enjoy it while he could. An architect from Bristol he was immediately amazed and captivated by the many old buildings in perfect condition all over the city, especially here in the High Street. It was a visit he had promised he would take one day, and the conference provided a perfect excuse. He was not far from his hotel in Princes Street, but it was such a good night and not at all late in the day he contemplated what else needed doing. The sun still shone and the atmosphere was quite calm, unusual for this time of the year. He was enjoying himself and felt quite at home.

‘You are not a local then, are you?’ The question came from one of two men standing close by. ‘Always busy at this time of the year, especially on a Friday night, full of regulars. Spot a visitor quite easily.’

‘No, I’m not a local. Just taking in the sights and they are truly magnificent. So much history laid out right before your very eyes, everywhere, the Castle, St Giles Cathedral, the Cannongate and Holyrood Palace. Where else could you see such a number of historical buildings just as they were hundreds of years ago? Truly amazing’

‘Aye that’s true, Edinburgh has had quite a dramatic history over the centuries with many enemy armies laying siege to that black rock with its battlements and cannon. Still as good as it was in its heyday, hardly changed one iota. Built to last and that it has and may it be there for many more centuries to come. Such a proven eye opener for all the tourists that throng to see what probably is the best possible location for a military castle in the whole world. Looks like you are drinking on your own. It’s a poor way for a man to drink. Join us if you like, just about to order another round.’

‘Are you sure? I would not want to be a nuisance. Must admit, it’s much better than standing in a packed pub all on your own with no one to talk to. Gordon is my name.’ He shook the two strangers hands. ‘You might be able to point me in the right direction later. My son wants a book on a dog that has its statue somewhere near here.’

‘I’m Freddy. The taller and heavier set of the two men then introduced himself to Gordon and then turned to his friend. And this is Graham my mate." He was a smaller version and quite a bit thinner with a shock of black hair and small black eyes. That will be our famous dog, Grey Friars Bobby. Its statue is just along the Bridges less than three minutes from here with a shop right beside it where you can get your book. There is another great pub next to the Auld Kirk where the story originated. You can hear it all from the landlord’s mouth. We’ll take you there after our drink. If its all right with you.’

‘That would be a big favour, as it is one of the must dos on this trip. My son saw it on the telly and has been pestering me ever since he knew I was coming to Edinburgh for a conference. I promised him I would definitely get him a copy so that will be great. Must admit Edinburgh has been quite a surprise with so many things to see and all within easy reach. The Castle was amazing. Hard to imagine it was built so long ago and still in such pristine condition. My son would just die to be up on these battlements and see all those old cannons. Takes you back centuries, no wonder it was never captured. The wife too would love to shop in all these curio shops, which line the High Street and Princess Street. Must be a woman’s heaven with all its magnificent shops. We will definitely be back here again’

‘Aye its been around a long time and all these buildings are kept in the same condition. They are protected and must be repaired and in some cases rebuilt with the original stone, just with fresh mortar. The cobbles and narrow lanes are all just as they were for many years.’ Freddy was obviously very proud of his city as well he should be.

It was over an hour later and a few beers downed when the trio finally left Deacon Brodie’s, crossed the High Street and headed along towards the university. Gordon soon had his book and minutes later they were ensconced in Grey Friars Pub, having another drink and listening to the story of Bobby the dog. It was a real teary story showing the love and the devotion of a small dog for its dead master, just lying by his grave until it died itself. Gordon decided a visit to the gents was in order, and therefore, he never saw the pill being deposited in his drink, nor suspected any harm coming his way from his newly met friends.

Not much later, when Gordon felt slightly light headed and a bit dizzy that things began to change. They had left the pub and were walking down into the Grassmarket area where Freddy had his car parked, they said and that they would give him a lift to his hotel on Princes Street. Gordon felt distinctly weak and had to be half supported and half carried down the hill to where the car was parked. Could it be the drink? he thought, as his strength suddenly left him and he had to be fully supported by his pair of new friends. He was glad when they finally reached the car. Getting pushed into the back seat was the last thing Gordon remembered as he fell into a stupor and slumped into a black void, one he would never come out off.

CHAPTER TWO

DEATH

Two years earlier in the jungles of Brazil.

It seemed a very dark and silent world, which Tom Mason suddenly found himself in. He appeared to be somehow floating or hovering in a thick cool liquid without any apparent difficulty. Breathing quite normally in this shadow void, one, which he felt he had entered at least twice before, if his memory was to be believed. Silently, wraith like forms kept appearing and drifting around him. They appeared to be welcoming him with open arms and their smiling faces were encouraging him to join them. Some he thought he recognised as long dead relatives and friends, others, were total strangers. They were all dressed in white clothes that billowed out around their ghostly shapes. Trying to comprehend what was happening totally baffled him. Had he died? Was this heaven! Or had he entered some other unknown world. He was fully aware and conscious of what was happening, but had no control over it or his movements. It appeared he was not making any headway, just floating alone through this shadow world, awaiting his fate. He felt no threat, just bewilderment at what seemed to be an existence being presented, as one possibility, to be chosen if he decided to accept. What was happening to him had no meaning!

Suddenly, as before, it again started to change. He was now moving slowly higher, leaving the gloom and smiling faces behind, heading upwards to another world. It gradually became lighter as he glided motionless, as if drawn to this bright aura above. Then it happened the same as he remembered earlier. He seemed to break through the cool surface into a fierce heat, loud screaming sounds with intense waves of pain surging throughout his body. His eyes were filled with a hot liquid and long shafts of bright light lit this other world. It was like suddenly breaking into hell, with his face the centre of whirling ripples and his body entering this maelstrom of frightening emotions. He could not take all the intense feeling pounding through his brain and he desperately sought the calm, quiet, painless world he had just left. He knew this had happened before and he had been able to seek refuge, retreating from what appeared to be a world out of control. He tried desperately to sink beneath this terrible place and find the welcoming throng again. Perhaps they would let him join their quiet, cool dark world this time.

Nothing happened, it seemed to get hotter and noisier, with great waves of excruciating pain coursing throughout his entire body. He finally managed to open his eyes, wiping away the pools of sweat, which had gathered there as he had lain in a comatose state. The terrifying scene gradually took on some shimmering shape with treetops appearing to form a solid roof above him. The sun created a hot blast of heat and light where it could penetrate the treetops in this alien world. He soon realised he was lying on his back, squeezed into a small space with seats and fuselage crushed all around him. The bedlam noise was continuous, like a roar of anger, with loud squeals, and what sounded like sharp barking. His mind wanted it all to go away. The intense pain and waves of sickness racked his body. He wanted desperately the peace and sanctuary of the other world.

He struggled to take in this hideous situation. Where was he! What had happened to get him into such a perilous state of affairs? He tried to straighten his legs but couldn’t as sharp metal jabbed into them. His back was bent over with soft material rammed against his head and neck. Movement was again restricted with panels of heavy material lying over the top of him squashing his body into this small space. How he had got into this predicament escaped him, it was all surreal and frightening. His mind refused to accept what had happened, and his memory at first offered no reason. He did not want to belong here, the other world was much more acceptable but it appeared he could not return there willingly. He finally had to accept the realisation that there was no going back. He was here in this hellish place, like it or not.

CHAPTER THREE

RESCUED

Gradually the situation started to settle in his mind and make some sense, his memory gradually filling in some of the blanks. Mentally he seemed fine, except for the intense pain. He started to reason with what had happened to him, but physically realised he was in a dreadful mess. He briefly remembered he had been a passenger in a small plane flying between Belize on the Yucatan Peninsula and Iquitos in Peru. He was answering an urgent message from a friend, who said he had found sound evidence that he had long been desperately seeking. Tom was an archaeologist and explorer, who specialised in South American indigenous races. Particularly interested in the Inca and Aztec civilisations and their relationship with the Mayans and their subsequent clash with the Conquistadors from Spain.

His studies of how these three very large civilisations in different parts of the Americas had all disappeared in a few short centuries had mystified the world for years. Each had existed for many thousands of years, yet disappeared without reason in a matter of decades. What caused their demise? Was it diseases introduced by the European explorers? Was it droughts or plaques or natural disasters? Three vibrant nations all disappeared about the same time, just leaving in some cases whole cities and settlements without a trace. He had studied these phenomena for almost fifteen years and travelled through each of their empires hoping to unravel the mysterious happenings. There definitely was in his mind clear evidence that, although they occupied different areas and climates, each had been subject to aspects that had pointed to infiltration of alien causes, leading to their individual collapse. While investigating a Mayan settlement on the Yucatan Peninsula he had received startling news that one of his assistants had found evidence of Mayan styled artefacts buried in an Inca site in Peru. He had always hoped to prove that these two cultures had shared some common ground and had international contacts. This news had sent him on a path to acquire an urgent flight, pushing him to reluctantly accepting a quite risky venture on a small charter flight with a few other passengers, also in a hurry. He had known at the time how dangerous this might be, but his reckless decision to get to his destination without haste, overcame his Scottish conservative thinking.

He remembered he had been sitting in his seat in the second row, thinking of his quest and his friend’s news and the effect on the world’s thinking, if the discovery did exist. How his employers the British Museum of Antiquities would react to this important find and how this had clouded his judgement of travel mode. Suddenly, his thoughts were shattered when he had heard a loud bang from one of the two engines and looking out the small window saw it tear itself apart and fly off in many pieces. The plane suddenly shuddered and instead of travelling smoothly along its path started a steep downward trajectory, before hurtling towards what had to be part of the Amazon jungle. Feeling the explosion and the sudden dropping sensation, he had immediately lain on the floor between the seats with his pack and some soft luggage pushed in front of his body to protect it from what he knew would be a hard and dangerous landing. There had been six people on the plane including a pilot and stewardess making up the crew. It was a Cessna Citation flying a charter service, which he had grabbed, as it was important he got to his destination quickly. It was a risk he had been wiling to take instead of waiting for a larger and more modern flight, not available until the following day. Airlines in this part of the world generally were fine, although some smaller companies flew aircraft long past their use by date, but were cheap and readily available. He didn’t know how many times he had struggle with the dilemma of flying safely, or taking a chance. This time it had come back and bitten him.

The plane had seemingly levelled out and made a landing of sorts, but he could not remember any details. How long had he been here? Could there be any other survivors around? Or was he the only one. He now realised he had floated between potential death and the living world a few times and had almost succumbed to the former, but something kept bringing him back to this hellhole of a place. Obviously the plane had not gone on fire but had cracked up pretty badly on landing among the trees. He could remember the pilot pulling it out of its death dive but only managing to level out at best, screaming to brace and then the horrible sound of the impact, as the plane ploughed into the jungle with frightening consequences. The last thing he could recall was the crashing sound of the trees smashing through the fuselage and it collapsing, just like a tin can, all around him. He was lucky to be alive, even if only just. Again he tried to move his arms but there were severe spasms of pain confirming all was not well and there was considerable damage to his whole body. He knew he had to get out, so despite the aches, moved his fingers and then his wrists. The problem appeared to be with his left arm, which was either broken or fractured. Pushing with mainly his undamaged right arm, he was able to push part of the seat off his head.

He could at least see a little more, but it was not good, splintered tree branches had smashed their way through the plane and had he been sitting upright, would have been decapitated, or certainly killed outright on impact. Pushing further up he slowly, despite the pain, cleared his head and torso. His legs were still jammed between the floor and the seats and moving his toes at least proved they were still there. The pain shooting up his legs told him he had at least suffered damage, although it was difficult to know just how bad. Crusted blood down his face and chest confirmed nasty cuts along his scalp and an eyebrow was slashed and badly swollen. Taking stock, he was hurting in many places but alive, with a chance to get out if only his strength and body could take the punishment required. After a few minutes to get his head straight, he pushed the seats again and they moved a fraction, releasing some pressure on his legs. It was only after many attempts, he could get his legs to straighten and felt the agony as the blood returned fully, sending painful waves of pins and needles all along his thighs and feet. The left leg was clearly damaged and possibly broken below the knee. The pain was almost unbearable once it was freed, he felt sick and passed out for a few minutes it seemed.

It was going to be difficult just to get free, never mind how to get clear of the wreckage. He would have to move as much as his body would let him and not to push too hard, as further injuries could happen. Inches at a time, and long periods of recuperation, with waves of pain and dizziness affecting his whole body, saw him finally get clear of the surrounding wreckage, but still entombed inside the plane. He decided to shout out, to see if anybody answered, or proved he was alone. After he had called out for over twenty minutes he finally gave up, realising it was all up to him, to survive the crash and try to live to tell the tale.

Eventually pulling his body mainly with his right arm, he managed to get up over the seats. Then, saw at least two bodies badly mangled by a tree trunk that had hit them across their lower bodies and smashed into their heads. There was also a third body, the stewardess, smashed against the wall of the plane. It was not a pretty sight. He could see a little daylight forward and had to wriggle between their bodies, to establish that the front of the plane was gone. The back half, although intact, was badly crushed and had broken off from the cockpit and first row of seats on impact. Peering through the hole, he could see that they were about thirty feet up in the trees, stuck firmly between two huge branches. Broken stumps indicated the front section had continued downwards to the jungle floor and was probably many yards further on. Realising what was in front of him sent his stomach heaving with despair. How on earth would he get out of the plane and then down to the jungle floor, with at least two broken limbs and goodness knows how many bruises and possible damaged ribs. It was now important to get clear some priorities and plans to just survive where he was. Water was a priority, food of some sort would be helpful and attention to his injuries mandatory, otherwise succumbing back to the previous world would happen quite quickly.

His light pack had some biscuits and fruit with bottled water and he pulled it clear of the chaos and found the meagre but welcome rations inside. He also remembered the hostess had supplies stored away in an overhead