The Academy

By Thomas J. Stone

Robert and Joanne Collins only wanted their son, John, to have a better start to life than they both had. A school was recommended to them and the technical facilities at the Milton Academy would have given John a definite advantage when it became time to choose his future career. He desperately wanted to do something in the field of robotics and make the world a better place.

A series of mysterious deaths brings back DI Gerry Daly, with a new sidekick, to investigate. No Witches, Demons or Immortal Serial Killer this time. It's something far more sinister involving a secret organisation bent on world domination... and they are using innocent children with special powers to do it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas J. Stone
• Release date: Jun 5, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224237654

Book preview

THE ACADEMY

1

Khalid Razzaq was the leader of a terrorist group operating in Northern Pakistan.  Individually he was responsible for more than two hundred deaths.  Either shot, throats slit or badly mangled by bomb attacks.  His group collectively had killed thousands of mostly innocent people in the region.

The group had been killing for so long most of them had forgotten what they were actually fighting for.  Even Razzaq didn’t know anymore.  It was just killing for killing’s sake now.  Anyone who wasn’t like him and his band of terrorists were legitimate targets in his mind and those of his followers. 

Without any warning his head suddenly exploded.  Blood, bone and brains splattered against the wall behind him.  The explosion was silent and didn’t alert any of the others of the terrorist group in the next room, quietly cleaning their AK47s with care.  He was found several minutes later when Yousuf Abbas, the second in command, wanted to know when the latest operation would start.  It was to have been a vicious armed attack on a village not too far away.  Someone was harbouring an informant, so obviously everyone had to die to make sure the culprit was eliminated and to send a message to everyone else in the region. 

Yousuf couldn’t believe the gory sight he saw in front of him.  Assassin!! he shouted frantically to the rest.  But how did they get in to the room? There were no windows here and no one had passed the rest of the group in the other chamber of the dirty whitewashed house.  The others quickly ran into the room with their guns at the ready looking for the alleged assassin.  Yousuf was identified as the only possible person who could have killed their leader.  Probably using a handgun with a silencer on Razzaq.  He was quickly taken outside and his throat slit and left to bleed out on the dusty street. 

The mysterious, invisible assassin had claimed two lives for the price of one and had possibly saved many lives, for now, as the murderous raid planned for later that day had been postponed.  There were many arguments trying to choose a new leader and at least two of the rivals were murdered themselves.

2

We really do provide an excellent education for the children and are fast becoming the premier establishment for young people in the country, said a smiling Millicent Crowther, Headmistress of the Milton Academy in Shillington, in central Hertfordshire.  She was tall and rather thin.  Fifty-five years of age and single.  Her dark hair was drawn back from her face.  Millicent was seated behind her large oak desk addressing the couple in their mid-thirties in front of her, seated comfortably in a pair of plush chairs.  She liked to provide comfort for the parents of prospective pupils and put them at their ease.  It was good for business.

Robert and Joanne Collins had been given a tour of the elite school and had been very impressed so far.  It was expensive but they would pay anything for their son, John, to have the very best start in life.  John was their only child and when Joanne found out she could not add to her brood she was obviously heartbroken, but they both realised that they could devote all their resources solely on John instead of having to split their time and money on another child.  Robert was thirty-five, six feet tall, average build with pristine blond hair and was an investment banker in the city.  He’d recently been made a junior partner in the firm and, with a large increase in salary, decided to invest in his own family.  Joanne was two years younger, also blond, petite and  very pretty in a floral summer dress.

Joanne was actually in two minds about sending John to a new school.  She obviously wanted only the best for her son but knew he would have to stay there during the week and only come home for the weekends.  She dreaded being left alone in the large house in Kingsford if John moved into Milton Academy.  She was a fairly nervous woman.  She’d always been a little timid but the recent spate of gruesome murders in the village of Kingsford had made her a lot worse.  Maybe it would be best if John was here during the week – it would be a lot safer for him and he would be getting a really good education too.  But was it really safe anywhere these days? She smiled at Millicent and nodded politely as the Head told them all about the Academy and how all the other children there were benefitting enormously from the various classes, especially the science ones where the young boys and girls were heavily involved with various experiments and testing. 

Do you mean like chemistry? asked Joanne.  I’m not sure they should be playing around with acid or anything dangerous at that age, she said, still dwelling on John’s safety.

Oh, no, of course they wouldn’t, smiled Millicent.  What I mean is we, at the Academy, are more technologically based.  Things like AI, programming and robotics really, amongst other things.  All perfectly safe ventures, I assure you.  We would never expose our children to anything that could harm them, she smiled as reassuringly as possible to the prospective paying parents.  I’m sure Mr. Collins is aware in his profession that technology is definitely the future, not only financially, but the most successful careers will involve some sort of technological ability and we strive to give these children a definite head start in these newer fields.  Yes, traditional sciences have their part to play here, but that will come later, when they are older, for a more well-rounded education, but we don’t feel these subjects are as important as they were when I was your son’s age.  Eleven is such an amazing time of life, don’t you think? – I’ve found that they all have a great thirst for knowledge and it puts them well on their way on the right path if they apply themselves correctly.

Our children? Thought Joanne.  He’s still mine you know! That will never change.  She thought protectively.  She was obviously not ready for him to leave the nest quite yet, even though it was only for the weekdays, but she knew that Robert would outvote her.  He usually got what he wanted, especially when he was spending his money to pay for it! She could see the obvious advantages John would get there but this feeling of hers, something she’d had since she was John’s age, raised more than a few doubts.

Well, this certainly seems like the right place for John to come to, I’ve been very impressed and I’m sure John will be very happy here once he’s adjusted to all the changes, said Robert, standing and shaking the hand of the Headmistress.  I assume you have your recommended supplier for his uniform, sports gear and the like? he asked.

Yes, of course, they are called Frobisher’s, said the Head.  All that information will be sent out to you in the welcome pack and I’ll get that out to you this afternoon, so you should get the information tomorrow or the next day.  It will contain everything you need to know but if there is anything else then don’t hesitate to contact me during weekdays.  I’m sure there is a lot in the welcome pack that I haven’t mentioned.  If I had we’d  be here until next Tuesday, she joked.  For now John should enjoy what is left of his summer holiday before he gets down to the hard work we all expect of him."

Joanne picked up on the word ‘need’ being stressed clearly.  Maybe her sixth sense was making her more nervous than usual.  Joanne had never been tested for things like ESP or any psychic ability but she’d always known she could sense things.  Things that were about to happen or things that didn’t seem ‘right’ to her.  All her family and friends believed in her abilities, but were sometimes disappointed when Joanne was a little vague with her explanations.  ‘I’m not a bloody gypsy fortune teller, you know,’ she often told them.  She knew she trusted her instincts but sometimes she really didn’t know what her instinct was telling her.

Joanne was silent and contemplative for most of the trip to pick John up from her parent’s house who lived fairly close to them in Kingsford.

Anything wrong, Jo? asked Robert.

Joanne thought for a few seconds and said, I’m not sure to be honest, Rob.

What do you mean?

We should really look at a few more places before we decide on John’s future.  I’m not sure if I like that Head or not.  The way she said ‘our children’ was a little creepy, don’t you think?

Come on Jo, it’s just an expression.  I’m sure she meant she felt protective of all of the kids there.  I think it’s the best place for John, love, I really do.  The Academy is very highly rated academically and Peter Thorson at the office, you remember him? He says his kid is thriving there.

I don’t doubt it, Rob, sighed Joanne.  I just have a feeling about the place, that’s all.  I’m sure John will eventually be fine there.  I suppose it’s just that I’ll miss him so much during the week, maybe that’s all it is.

"Yes, he will be fine, and you’ll soon get used to all that extra free time you’ll have for yourself too, maybe get back to writing again if you are not doing the usual things like the school run and tidying up after him all the time.  I thought your short stories were pretty good before John came along.  Maybe we’ll get you published some day like one of my clients, Mark Mason? smiled Robert.  He tells me he worked in rubbish, dead end jobs before he started to write and now look at him?"

I suppose you’re right, Rob.  I can spent more time with my folks too.  Dad needs a bit of help with his arthritis now.  I can’t expect mum to do it all, can I?  I think I will get back into the stories as well, it was a nice escape at the time.  I don’t mean that in a bad way, but you work long hours and the characters seemed like they were company for me while I waited for you to come home from the office, she said, doing her best to see a few positives from John being away at the school all week.  She would probably find there was still not enough time to do all the things she’d want to do.

Exactly, you’ll soon fill your time without John being under your feet and we really will make the most of the weekends.  We’ll get out and about a lot more.  It may mean me working a few more hours during the week so I have everything up to date and needn’t bring anything home with me on a Friday.  It will be good, I promise.

Joanne inwardly sighed.  More hours alone during the week, she thought.

3

Gary Filmore, the twenty-eight year old leader of an environmental group called ‘Oil Is Murder!’ sat in his ‘office’ – which was really his bedroom in his parents’ large house on the outskirts of Epsom.  With him was his best friend, Bryan Mortimer, who was Gary’s right hand man ever since they went away to university together where they were brainwashed by their Sociology professor, like so many others were.  Society was evil and worst of all were the environmental issues, apparently.  Oil drilling being the very pinnacle of destroying the planet, hence the name of this particular group of activists which numbered less than twenty so far.

So, we’ll all drive to Junction 7 on Saturday morning to be there for five a.m. and then manoeuvre ourselves onto the M25 there and sit down until the police arrive.  They’ll probably provide us with tea and biscuits like the last time, when we blocked the A3.  We should get National TV coverage this time.  The traffic will be backed up for miles once it starts to get busy, he beamed, having no idea of the irony that it would take at least five or six cars to transport them the almost eight and a half miles to the motorway junction that morning.

Sounds perfect, replied Bryan, munching on a packet of Frazzles.  Just imagine pissing off all those shoppers and football fans, he giggled, nearly choking on his fake bacon-flavoured snack.  He hated football fans now that most had stopped supporting the kneeling before games by the players.  Bunch of racists! We’d better make sure we take a few snacks with us - just in case the police don’t offer us anything, he said, then tipping the last few crumbs into his mouth from the packet and reaching for yet another bag.  Bryan was fat, very fat.  Well over twenty stone.  His faded green t-shirt was bulging around his huge torso, threatening to burst at any moment. 

Gary was the complete opposite, very thin and pale with bad skin under his mop of dyed black hair.  He had been a Vegan since his early teens and had gone years without any proper nutrition.  Meat is Murder! It was his well-worn favourite phrase.  His favourite Smiths song the inspiration for the name of his group of eco-warriors.  He was jobless, living off his middle-class parents.  He spent all his time watching videos on Youtube about climate change and the destruction of the planet.  He watched that Steve Hansen bloke a few times and had even commented on the podcasts saying Hansen knew nothing about what was really happening around the world.  The only friends he had were the other members of the group, especially Eden, who had changed her name by deed poll from Doris Lamb after she became a Vegetarian.  She didn’t even have a last name now.  Gary wondered if he should do the same and thought for a few seconds what his name should be.  Ocean? Leaf? Maybe even Dolphin! He just needed to persuade his parents to let him.  He didn’t want to upset them and risk losing his weekly pocket money.

Bryan finished his new snack, this time a large sharing bag of Monster Munch, while he listened to Gary going over the plan one last time.  God! He was such a control freak, but he had plenty of food at his house even though he barely ate anything more than tofu, nut cutlets and rice milk.  Bryan kept nodding as he pretended to listen one last time... already thinking of ordering a giant pizza when he got home, maybe two.  Gary had texted him at work during his 8-4 shift at Halfords and asked him to drop in to finalise everything for the weekend’s protest.  Bryan was slightly annoyed as it delayed his pizza order and a few hours of gaming on his Xbox.  He didn’t really care that much about the state of the world, but the crisps and Pepsi at Gary’s house were worth the detour.  And there was the added bonus of getting his face on the news when they protested even though they said being on TV added ten pounds to the way you looked.  He staggered to his feet using the bed as leverage and waddled towards the bedroom door. 

I’ll pick you up at around four-thirty on Sunday then? said Bryan, now thinking about choosing his pizza toppings while trying not to salivate too much.

Yes, I’ll meet you outside.  Don’t be late Bryan.  We have to get there nice and early and get ourselves settled while there is hardly any traffic, Gary replied.

Don’t worry, I’ll be here on time, grinned Bryan.  He left the room and struggled down the narrow staircase, his elbows sliding along the wallpaper. He shouted a goodbye to Gary’s parents who were in the kitchen cooking and drinking white wine together.  They slurred their own farewells as he left through the front door.  He squeezed himself into his dirty red Vauxhall Corsa, full of old fast food wrappers, and made his way home, just a five minute walk away.

Gary