Jason Rybak's Blog, page 3

Waiting For Danger

At night, when I finished writing, I turned off the lights and opened the curtain. I stared out into the night, waiting for my eyes to catch something, to spot someone lurking outside.

I did it every night.

I could tell Six had noticed. He didn’t say anything. He was only twelve, but an experienced spy and a killer. Of the two of us, he was the patient one. But I couldn’t help thinking he was becoming restless. That he wanted something to happen. He spent a lot of time pouring over the evidence Silas had left us. He’d studied the conversation ShadowAspect had overheard between two arch criminals. But he didn’t know who either man was.

He kept referring to the safehouse as “his” – but never revealed how a twelve-year-old could own a house. But then, Six was no ordinary twelve-year-old.

Night came again. I finished work, shut down my computer, turned off the lights and opened the curtain.

I realised I’d been looking forward to this portion of the evening. I was too comfortable to leave safety and run into more danger. But somehow, I was willing danger to come to me.

Then something happened.

I almost missed it.

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The Dark Shape

A dark shape dropped past the window. The vague shape of a black cloak billowed like wings. The figure floated to the ground then disappeared among the trees.

I stared through the window, wondering if I’d imagined it.

Then I remembered that I’d seen something similar happen before. Back in my flat – the last time I’d lived somewhere that hadn’t been provided by Silas or Six. I’d seen a dark shape then – whoever that was had dropped to the ground past my window and disappeared.  Was it the same person? Was it the Vudrian hitman I’d spoken to before?

I watched, standing still at the window, barely daring to breath or blink.

Nothing. The figure didn’t reappear.

Somehow, that was enough. I had to know who they were and where they had gone. Couldn’t have them breaking into the house in the middle of the night and murdering us both in our beds.

Six was waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs.

“You saw something, didn’t you?” he said.

“I think so.”

He gave me a wary look.

“That means what you think you saw wasn’t normal.” His eyes darted around him – like he expected an attack any second. Then they trained on me – and my coat. They narrowed. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk?” I replied.

“Six hours later then you normally do.”

Trust him to not miss a thing.

“I just want to see if there’s anything or anyone out there,” I shrugged.

“Am I supposed to come with you?”

“What for?” I said. “If I did see what I think I saw, guns would be useless anyway.”

“I’ll keep a lookout here then,” he said.

He strode up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed and locked.

The next sound I heard was the sound of three handguns, two assault rifles and a sniper rifle being loaded and cocked. Six had said he kept weapons in a few safehouses in and around London. If this one was anything to go by, he’d amassed a stockpile of weapons to fight off a small army.

But then, that would depend on where the army was coming from.

“The boy’s twelve. How has he lived long enough to accomplish any of this?”

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Venturing Out

I locked the front door behind me and stepped out into the cold night air, then ventured through the trees around the back of the house. I’d wandered through there so many times I could do it in the dark no problem at all.

Every slasher horror film I’d ever seen flashed before my mind’s eye – where some idiot gets a call or hears a noise outside or wonders where their mate Weenus went. Instead of waiting inside where it’s safe, they step outside the safety of their home to see if they can see anything, usually leaving the front door open for any psycho to creep in unseen. Every time I see one of these films, I always shout at the screen:

“Stay inside, you idiot.”

Then the idiot gets stabbed to death and their body is found in a pool of blood.

So here I was, creeping outside the safety of the house to see if I could see anyone.

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Darkness

My heart hammered. The blood roared through my ears. My head throbbed to the rhythm of my pounding pulse. I couldn’t work out if I was scared or excited.

I’m not as easy to creep up on as most normal human beings – not any more. Being followed and watched has made me hyper-vigilant – at least that’s what I call it. I can now feel when someone is watching me. It’s like an itch in the back of my head.

I felt nothing. So I kept going, trudging through the trees. There was enough light from the little town close by for me to just make out where I was going. The shapes off the trees all around me materialised in the darkness. They were all I could see, rising up either side of me, closing me in, more densely packed together the further I walked from the house.

I kept going, trudging through the trees. I had no idea if I was still on the route I usually took or not. Every square metre of forest looked exactly the same as the last.

My eyes caught a movement – somewhere ahead – across my eyeline from left to right. It was no more than a fleeting glimpse. But I took in enough to be sure it was human. And it wasn’t someone out for a stroll. They disappeared too quickly.

I picked up the pace.

Part of me wanted to run. To get there as soon as possible. To find whoever it was and work out what they were up to. To see a story unfold before my eyes.

The rest of me wondered what the hell I was doing out there and if I was finally losing my mind completely.

I fixed my gaze on the point ahead where I was sure I’d seen the dark figure vanish and brushed all other thoughts aside. In the darkness, it was almost impossible to gauge distance, but I reached the area I was aiming for, took a right turn to follow the dark shape and kept going. The fact I’d have trouble finding my way back now barely registered. I was on a mission and that was all that mattered.

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Henry Frey and the Elf King

My alter ego, Sarasin Shade, has published a Christmas story and it has recently had a revamp! If you love Christmas films, Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, you should love Henry Frey and the Elf King.

Synopsis:

Santa Claus is an elf. His real name is Klasodin. He lives in his Madjikal, snow-covered city of Alvahame with his elves. 

Santa Claus is in trouble. Sabotaged by enemies inside and outside Alvahame, his Madjik is failing and gifts are going missing. Then, just days before Christmas, he disappears. 

Henry Frey is the last human child with the Affinity for Madjik. Hunted by Santa’s enemies, he embarks on a dangerous journey by sleigh, sledge and snowboard to find Santa and restore his Madjik. If he fails, there will be no Christmas. 

I have also produced a teaser trailer to hopefully wet your appetite.

 

Buy now from Amazon, which you can link through from my website here

music: https://www.purple-planet.com 

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Temporary Safety

I was in no hurry to go anywhere after reading about ShadowAspect’s spying mission. Six agreed that staying still is a good tactic sometimes, so he sifted through the notes Silas had provided, looking for clues as to where retired detective Robert Gentry hid the file that everyone was hunting. Like it or not, we were in a race to find it first. Still, I took the chance to get some writing done. The view from some of the windows was the most inspiring I’d worked to in ages.

ShadowAspect had escaped the underground London café without being seen and visited a few other places that concerned Sarasin enough to send him. A couple have already appeared in books we’ve written, some haven’t. Seeing how many of them are on the brink of disaster or destruction, it was really more than I needed to know. I was in enough danger myself.

But I felt safe enough in our safehouse.

Little did we know, someone had already found us.

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Mutual Threat

Wolsingham nodded to the bartender. A file rose in the air from behind the bar. It flew through the air and dropped on the table in front of Hoyer.

“What is this?” Hoyer asked – without touching it.

“A retired detective who was asking a lot of questions.”

“About your people or mine?”

“Mine. They took care of him before he could cause any lasting damage. But there are rumours.”

“Concerning.”

“A file of evidence that he collected before his death. It has never been found. It is said to contain proof of my organisation’s activities and an accurate assessment of our goals.” “This sounds like your problem,” Hoyer shrugged.

“If what I have heard is correct, it also contains evidence supporting his theory of an underground criminal organisation, which employs professionally trained teenagers.”

Silence.

Hoyer’s expression changed. He flicked through the file, then cleared his throat. “I’ll look into it.”

“You should,” Wolsingham stated. “Jason Rybak is. And you do not want him locating the file before you do.” He moved towards a door behind him, then turned. “You can tell your snipers and armed response unit to stand down. Not that they would have been much use here anyway.”

 

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Suspected Existence

“Members of the security services are already beginning to suspect your existence and the work of your organisation,” Wolsingham said. He gave a sneering laugh. “Mondial. But they are unaware of mine and I need it to stay that way.”

“It is my understanding that there is a specialised agency dedicated to bringing you down.”

“Not for much longer,” Wolsingham replied. “As no one else knows about them, their demise won’t even make page 11 of the Evening Standard.” Wolsingham finished his tea, dabbed his mouth with a serviette and got to his feet. “I need the writer taken care of. In return, my people will provide assistance when you need it. I hope you gleaned everything you needed to with this visit.”

“I did,” Hoyer smiled. “And Jason Rybak will be dead before his first book charting the exploits of your people hits the internet.”

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Me

I slammed my laptop shut and bowed over in my chair, trying to suppress the urge to vomit. Two of the most dangerous men in the world, never mind just the UK, and I was their next topic of discussion.

I took a deep breath and read on.

“Jason Rybak,” Wolsingham said. “The second people start taking the content of his work more seriously, we will both be in trouble.”

“I attempted to have him killed,” Hoyer replied. “As I know you did.”

Wolsingham scowled.

“But he has help,” Hoyer continued. “I know nothing about this helper. None of my people have even seen his face. But their accounts suggest he belongs more to your world than mine.”

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Alliance of Enemies

The man at the table gazed at Hoyer with contempt.

“I know you Gromas love to linger behind the scenes where no one can see you and revel in your genetic superiority,” Hoyer said calmly. “But it makes you lazy and sloppy. I would take a well-trained ordinary, but talented human being any day of the week. You should spend more time in the real world, Mister Wolsingham.”

“You would not be in your position without people like us. I would hate to see you lose everything you have built by starting a war with me.”

Hoyer laughed.

“I would like to see you try. So far, your people have been as much use as your bartender’s little parlour trick. Our secret weapon in our war against Ciprian’s criminal cooperative failed in spectacular fashion.” Hoyer leaned forward. His jaw clenched. “And worst of all, your deficiencies and our defeat are soon to be made public – by a writer.”

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