Harris Lexington

Prologue - 1927 - Portsmouth, England.

The Hunter eased his way down the narrow cobbled street, hugging the red brick walls of the Victorian buildings. Though the sky was cloudless, the waning crescent moon made little impression on the night's blackness. Only the flicker of a single street light cut the inky dark. The flittering light making the long shadows dance.

Despite their dark Royal Navy uniforms the group of sailors from the HMS Hood were easy to follow as they made their way down the opposite side of the road. They were unaware of the Hunter's presence as he stalked them through the town's streets. They had paid no attention to him in the crowded saloon bar of the Duke of Buckingham, nor had they noticed him leave the pub behind them.

The sailors came to a crossroads and the bulk of the group continued on in the same direction. A single man broke from his companions and turned right, bidding his comrades farewell as he left them.

The Hunter waited in the shadowed doorway of a solicitor's office as a Singer Tourer bounced and clattered along the cobbles. The recess of the building's doorway shielding him from its jumping headlights. The car paused at the crossroads then continued on past the contingent of sailors. With the night still once more, the Hunter made his way across the street and up to the crossroad where he turned right, following the lone man.

The sailor had picked up his pace and now walked briskly, eager to reach his destination. The Hunter followed his prey through two more turns before he stopped at a small mid-terrace house. He knocked loudly on the house's red door. It swung open spilling light onto the street and revealing a bony girl dressed only in a thin camisole, the light from the house made the flimsy material translucent, the small swell of her breasts clearly outlined. She squealed in delight when she saw the sailor. He wrapped her in his arms and they kissed deeply before disappearing into the house.

The Hunter waited in the shadows. The passion had been evident. They would shortly be making love. He would give them time to immerse themselves in each other and so become oblivious of the world around them, allowing him to enter the house unnoticed.

The lock on the door was heavy and well made. The Hunter suspected the door itself would succumb to a single heavy blow, but such a blow would also announce his presence. Instead he spent almost five minutes skilfully manipulating a set of picks before the lock clicked open. He eased the door shut behind him and made his way stealthily down the corridor. A set of narrow, carpetless stairs lay directly in front of him. Through an open door at the top of the stairs came the sounds of the noisy lovers.

The stairs creaked as the Hunter ascended, but there was no interruption to the reverberations emanating from the room. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them. They were on a tatty single bed. She was on top, still wearing the camisole. Her back arched as she rolled her pelvis on his. Her arms were straight, hands by his shoulders where her fingers were entwined with his.

When it came it took both lovers by utter surprise. The sailor's eyes flicked as he saw the flash of movement of the Hunter's snake quick strike, but her back was to the Hunter, eyes shut, so she saw nothing. Her eyes sprang wide with shock as the blade sank between her ribs and punctured her heart. The flare of shock and fear in her eyes was quickly replaced by the glassy emptiness of death. The Hunter turned to his prey.

There had been four of them. They had come in the night. A night like this, clear and moonless, but bright with the brilliant blanket of stars that accompanies night on the Amazon delta. They had taken things which didn't belong to them then melted into the night.

The Hunter had been sent to retrieve that which had been taken and to execute those who had taken it. Two had died in Brazil, the third on the voyage to Europe. Only the sailor remained.

"You know why I'm here?" the Hunter asked. His voice thick and heavily accented.

"Yes," the sailor replied. The single word strained and laced with fear. The girl's lifeless corpse had slumped onto his chest, but he made no attempt to move her. Instead he lay still, hands still entwined in hers, his now flaccid penis still nestled in her sex.

"Where are they?"

The sailor indicated to his clothes, strewn across the floor by the side of the bed. In the right pocket of the trousers the Hunter found a leather pouch. He checked its contents.

"Is this all of them?"

"Yes. I haven't been able to find a buyer yet," the sailor replied. They were to be his final words.