Chris Simms - Killing the Beasts

Sly got out and went to the house, automatically noting the absence of a burglar alarm. Seconds later the letterbox was pushed open and the torch shone through the gap. Immediately it revealed an art deco lamp on a small shelf just inside the doorway. Holding up the globe-shaped lampshade was a coppery green female nude and from the outstretched fingers of her free hand hung a set of car keys.

'Bingo,' he whispered, hanging his flap of thick material through the letterbox. Next he fed the garden cane through, angling the hook at the end upwards towards the lamp. Breathing in deeply, he made an effort to steady his hand, then, focusing on the keyring itself, he expertly threaded the hook through it. Gripping the implement as tightly as he could, he joggled the thin length of wood up and down until the keys were dislodged from the statue's fingers. Their weight transferred to the hook and the cane bent slightly, but he was ready for that. He slid everything out, the keys brushing silently against the flap of soft material.

He turned the torch off, placed it at his feet, then grasped the set of keys and slipped them off the end of the garden cane. After extracting the flap of cloth, he turned his attention to his prize. On the fob was a photo of a young boy, the sort given to grandparents. The key to the BMW was obvious enough, as was the key to the front door itself. Thinking about the lamp in the hallway, he walked to the end of the drive and held up a thumb. The Ford's engine started up and the car pulled quietly away.

Knowing he wasn't meant to take anything else from the houses, he returned to the front door and slid the key into the lock. The door opened with hardly a sound. Stepping into the hall, he looked at the collection of photos of the same young boy crowding the little windowsill to the side of the door. Definitely a grandparent's house, he decided. Reaching round the back of the lamp, he found its cord with his fingers and traced it back to the plug in the wall. Just as he pulled it out he heard a footstep on the landing above. He froze, head bowed. A faint pull of breath came from the top of the stairs. Perhaps it was the absence of a male voice telling him to get out, but he somehow knew that it was a woman. All the advantage was his. She was up there, disoriented with sleep, in her nightclothes, probably alone and without a phone.

He pulled a Stanley knife from his coat pocket, held it against one of the photos and slowly dragged it down the glass. A thin rasping noise filled the silent house.

He heard a sharper intake of breath and then a wavering voice said, 'Leave this house immediately. I'm calling the police.'

From the dark hallway below her Sly leered, 'And how will you do that, Grandma? You won't be able to speak if I come up there and kill you.'

She let out a gasp of fright and he heard bare feet running away from the top of the stairs. A door slammed shut and a key turned in a lock.

He climbed halfway up the stairs and announced in a menacingly low voice, 'If this key doesn't work for that Beemer out there, I'm coming back inside for you.'

Then, laughing to himself, he slid the blade back into the stubby handle and returned the knife to his pocket. After wrapping the cord round the figure, he walked calmly from the house, held the key fob towards the vehicle and pressed the button. The vehicle's security system beeped as all the doors simultaneously unlocked. Minutes later he was driving back towards the motorway, heading towards the Russian's garage on the industrial estate in Belle Vue. After the car had been dropped off, its registration plates would be changed and documents prepared for the agent to ship it out to the Russian's contacts in Moscow.

May 2002

At times the sky merged seamlessly with the ocean below and it felt like they'd been hanging in a bubble of blue for hours. Looking up, the only thing Tom could find to provide a reference point against the all-enveloping colour was the sun stabbing down above him.

Eventually the angle of their approach changed and, as their descent began, he was able to look through the tiny Perspex window and watch the shadow of the plane racing over the surface of the motionless sea. Soon the pilot announced that the Seychelles were now visible to those on the right-hand side of the aircraft. Charlotte immediately leaned across him for a look as Tom said with a note of apprehension, 'Well, let's make the most of this. It's the last time I'll be coming up for air until August.'

After clearing the tiny customs hall at Victoria International airport on Mahé, they transferred to a worryingly small eight seater Air Seychelles plane for their onward flight to Praslin Island. They touched down minutes later on a small runway constructed of crudely interlocking slabs of white concrete. Standing next to the plane, waiting for their luggage to be unloaded as if from a bus, Tom could feel powerful waves of heat bouncing up from the ground: it felt like someone was holding a hairdryer under his chin. Once their bags had been placed on a small cart, they were led across to the low building by the edge of the runway. Standing inside the open doorway was a slightly built man in a light cotton suit.

'Mr and Mrs Benwell, I am Daniel Gedeon from Coco de Mer Resort. Welcome to Praslin.'

They shook hands, walked through the small terminal building and out onto the road. An old Mercedes taxi stood waiting for them, its boot already open. The porter from the airport placed their luggage inside and they were just about to climb into the back when Tom spotted the ox standing on the other side of the road. Across its neck was a roughly hewn yolk, carved from bulky sections of timber. Attached to the other end was a cart with two rows of sideways-facing seats under a pale blue canopy.

'Daniel,' said Tom. 'Can we go in that instead?'

Daniel looked confused. 'It will take you twenty minutes to get to the resort in that.'

Tom shrugged. 'We're on holiday. Who cares about time?'

He winked at Charlotte, who giggled and said, 'You're bloody mad.'

Daniel smiled. 'I'll go ahead with your baggage. 'He strode across the road and spoke quietly with the driver in a language that resembled French then handed over some crumpled rupee notes. 'OK, I will see you at the resort. Enjoy your ride.'

The driver goaded the beast into a slow amble, while Tom and Charlotte sat back on the wooden seats to enjoy the scenery. Passing a cluster of palm trees, Charlotte squeaked with disgust: hanging from their lower fronds was a mass of interlocking webs. Dotted around were hand-sized spiders, swaying gently in the breeze.

'Oh, how gross. Do you reckon those things are poisonous?'

Tom leaned forward, tapped the driver on the shoulder and pointed to the webs. 'Dangereuse?'

'Non,' the man said with a languid shake of his head. 'Ils peuvent piquer,' he jabbed at the back of his hand to indicate it being stung, 'comme un abeille.'

'OK, merci, 'Tom replied, sitting back. 'They can sting like a bee.'

At the resort Daniel led them across the lawns to a bungalow, which lay behind a straggly cluster of palm trees, the veranda leading directly down on to the thick white sand of the beach.

'Oh my God,' whispered Charlotte. As soon as Daniel had gone they tore open their suitcases and yanked out swimming costumes. Charlotte darted into the bedroom while Tom just stripped off where he stood. Seconds later, Charlotte re-emerged in a bright orange, low-cut number. Tom eyed the perfect profile of her breasts as she raced for the door, then raised his eyes upwards in thanks that she was his. He pulled on his swimming shorts, pausing for a moment at the desk and checking the wall behind for an extra phone socket for his laptop's modem. Then he too ran from the bungalow. The sand was bleached white and so powdery it squeaked every time his feet connected with it. Charlotte was standing motionless in the shallows, the water boiling around her knees as the recently collapsed wave was sucked back out to sea in a mass of hissing bubbles. He drew level with her and wordlessly she pointed across the water.