Welcome to Part D (The Phight) of my online cyber thriller, The Phisherman. To learn more about the story and meet the three main characters, click HERE. If you'd prefer to start at Chapter 1, click HERE. To select another chapter, click HERE.
WARNING
This chapter contains references to malicious activities that may trigger readers who have experienced abuse at the hands of trusted adults. If my work of fiction causes you distress, please accept my sincerest apology – that is the last thing I intend. For any readers struggling with what has happened to you, please find someone who can hear you and help you in a professional, caring manner. May you find healing for your hurt and dreams for your future.The uneventful trip ended as another local heavy metal band blasted through the tinny car speakers as loudly as it could. Despite the speakers’ poor quality, Alan was delighted with some of the local music he’d discovered on his long drive through the great Australian outback. It explained why he was almost disappointed when he drove up to the rusty metal double gate.
Almost.
Thankfully, the gate was open, as I requested – there was no need to leave the car’s safety without seeing anything slithery nearby.
He stopped the car for a moment at the top of the long dirt track meandering through open fields of brown knee-high grass. On the horizon stood a large outback house – his home for the next month. He couldn’t wait to discover the secrets he knew lay hidden within.
Alan drove along the long driveway and parked under the out-of-place steel carport.
He carefully checked that no snakes were visible in the cleared space around the house, then emerged from the dust-covered Hilux and climbed the three rickety wooden steps onto the long wooden veranda.
He jumped when a scrawny black and white cat darted past, madly rushing into the nearby bush.
After watching it disappear, Alan looked over the worn boards and saw a key safe mounted next to the front door. The owners had tried to make the safe look old to fit in with the rest of the supposedly historic building. Of course, being a hundred years old, the house would be regarded as recent in England.
He entered the four-digit combination and extracted a large metallic key.
After unlocking and opening the faded green wooden door, he walked inside.
He unconsciously emitted a loud sigh of relief at the simple yet comfortable furnishings - they were identical to the images online. The clean country smells wafting through the house were better than he’d hoped.
And, most importantly, it’s spotless – that means no spiders.
He ignored the welcome pack of local food and wine proudly displayed on the small coffee table in the spacious living room, choosing to climb the polished wooden stairs instead.
Alan’s first stop was the large, well-lit bathroom. He unceremoniously dumped both bags on the floor, then stared into the mirror for a minute, examining his appearance.
Satisfied with his skill, he carefully extracted the blue contact lenses and placed them into their protective container. Detaching the red goatee required less finesse though he was still careful – he preferred minimising pain. Lastly, he performed the easiest task: removing the bulky padding strapped across his stomach.
Content that his appearance had returned to normal, Alan picked up his bags and made his way to the large guest room. He knew the way; the owner had given him a virtual tour via one of Z’s many private chats.
Pushing the wooden door open, he surveyed the room’s furnishings. Like the other rooms he’d seen, it was modern yet simple. The owner had even made the two small changes Alan requested.
He swiftly emptied the contents of his overnight bag onto the bed, then folded and stored his clothes in the wooden chest of drawers, carefully ensuring each item was placed in the correct order.
He threw the bag into the corner, then jumped backwards onto the double bed and wiggled until he was satisfied with his position. The mattress was smaller than what he was used to, but it was firm yet comfortable, just as he liked.
And it smells nothing like that beastly bedding in King’s Cross.
Closing his eyes and unplugging his mind for a brief moment, he absorbed the sound of silence.
The spell was broken when a flock of cockatoos screeched loudly in the distance.
Alan slowly rose and stared out through the window at the vast fields of grass dotted with stands of eucalyptus trees swaying in the gentle breeze. There wasn’t another person, car or building in sight. Sighing with delight, Alan reflected on his surroundings.
The owner had explicitly sought a homestead in a remote location for his home-based business. That way, no one would hear the screams from within.
It was a facet Alan didn’t care about as he linked his phone to the Bluetooth sound system.
Once connected, he started Megadeth’s recently remastered and aptly named studio album, ‘Killing Is My Business … and Business Is Good – The Final Kill.’ Glorying at the sound of the initial keys, he swiftly cranked the sound to the maximum volume the ceiling-mounted speakers could endure without popping.
As wailing guitars, frantic toms, and crashing cymbals rose to bludgeon the silence away, he opened his tiger box and connected to his Campbelltown relay to check on Davies’ phone.
He was unsurprised that there was still no response. He suspected his pursuer was en route to Sydney. He also expected the trail that the CIA agent was following would end in Campbelltown.
And if Z has his way, so will Action Man’s life as a CIA agent.
Z restarted his script to notify him once his prey’s phone was contactable. If Davies caught the corresponding flight to Alan’s the day before, the alarm would trigger in another five to six hours.
His next step needed a lot more consideration.
What do I tell Abaddon?
Z needed to feed enough information to confirm if Abaddon was a mole. However, he needed to exercise caution. He would lose if he took Abaddon on directly.
I wish D3vast@t10N was still active. He had the skills to take Abaddon down.
Few others could help him. Z knew he was better than the black hat Scorp10n despite his arrogant claims. Scarecrow had disappeared two years earlier. The arrogant upstart BEEST was more dreadful in name than deed.
And I’ve never had contact with the ghost called koshmar. The dark whispers are clear – avoid the resurrected Russian.
Project 831 would change everything. Once that was in Z’s arsenal, Abaddon was history. And if Z felt like it, so was anyone else who might challenge his right to take Abaddon’s crown as the King Phisher.
However, I need time to get 831 functioning.
After half an hour spent agonising over every word, Z finalised his message for Abaddon. It was a mixture of truth and lies, designed to elicit a response that should reveal what Abaddon knew.
Hopefully, it will clarify if Abaddon is the dirty rat I suspect him to be.
And if he wasn’t, Z hoped the little information he provided about 831 would be sufficient to elicit Abaddon’s help with destroying Action Man forever.
Next, he needed to implement his ploy for Nick Davies’ downfall. 831 would have to wait until that was ready.
He started downloading several encrypted containers from his cloud drive. The house’s slow Internet connection meant the transfer would take a couple of hours to complete.
Having done everything he could, Alan carefully placed his laptop on the bedside table to finish its job and eased his body off the bed.
He stretched his tired body, then walked into the dimly lit hallway and meandered to the two rooms at the end, allowing his mind to salivate over what awaited him. He knew which room he wanted – the door on the left.
Opening the door that emitted a faint red glow through the viewing slit, he stepped inside.
It’s perfect.
He gently shut the door to quell Dave Mustaine’s screams, then gazed around the room in wonder. He closed his eyes and sighed as his mind filled with images and sounds he remembered from the last video he’d seen, imagining how the chamber would be when the occupant returned in five days.
A minute passed before he opened his eyes. Walking over to the family photo proudly displayed on the wall, he allowed his eyes to focus on the young blonde girl on the left of the family of five. She looked like a cherub with her big blue eyes and golden curls. Despite her subtle makeup and adult-style clothing, he knew she was only six.
That was what mattered for Alan.
Like I was that first time Charles woke me in the darkest hour of night as he shoved his smelly, sweat-soaked socks down my mouth so no one could hear a six-year-old boy’s screams.
Anyone personally affected by the dark topic raised in the last few paragraphs of this chapter has my deepest sympathy. Fyi, when I first planned “The Phisherman,” this scene and theme were absent. They only emerged as I wrote the story. Like some other storytellers I know, I often watch a chapter in my head as I write it. I remember getting goosebumps when I first saw Alan get off his bed and walk over to the “family portrait” on the wall. If you have been a victim and still carry an open wound in your mind and heart, I pray you will find mercy for your memories. And for anyone disbelieving such a depraved thing could still exist in a country like Australia, read the following article about a child sex ring broken in 2021 HERE