fredbassett | Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 7 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

Title : Crow on the Cradle, Part 7 of 15
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : Primeval
Rating : 18
Characters : Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, Cutter, Claudia, Abby, Connor, OCs.
Disclaimer : Not mine (except all OCs), no money made, don’t sue.
Spoilers : None
Summary : Lyle’s mother is on the scent of a story and it looks increasingly like the ARC team aren’t the only ones with knowledge of the anomalies.
A/N : this is my first official Primeval Big Bang! With many thanks to

lukadreaming for incomparable beta work and for holding my paw throughout a very long writing process. The total word count is 51,277 and I will be posting in 15 parts.

Claire Thackeray woke early as she always did and showered quickly before dressing in practical clothes: a pair of soft brushed denim trousers in olive green, a wide-sleeved cotton shirt a shade lighter and a pair of sandals that would, after breakfast, be replaced by walking boots.

Even at 7am the dining room was staffed by an attentive waiter who showed her to a table in front of the window and immediately equipped her with a cup of strong coffee. She was the first of the guests down to breakfast, but by the time she had finished a large plateful of scrambled eggs on toast and was sitting on the terrace outside the large French doors enjoying her first cigarette of the morning, others had started to arrive.

The mist that had shrouded the landscape the previous day had cleared, leaving behind no trace of its passing on a day that was already bright and warm, holding the promise of more heat when the sun rose higher in the sky. Claire drew the smoke into her lungs with evident pleasure and nodded companionably to Peter and Anne Churchill, ignoring the woman’s obviously disapproving glance and the way she ostentatiously changed tables to place herself out of range of the smoke.

The amount of alcohol consumed the previous night was clearly no barrier to the consumption of large breakfasts, but no one seemed terribly inclined to linger over their meals and an air of barely-contained excitement pervaded the room. The arrival of Ed Mason made heads swivel expectantly towards the door. He walked between the tables exchanging pleasantries and accepted the coffee held out to him by the waiter. With a showman’s talent, he allowed the tension to build before addressing his guests.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I hope everyone slept well last night. We’ll be leaving at 9am sharp. As I mentioned yesterday, I would advise everyone to apply insect repellent before we go and to please ensure that all mobile phones and cameras are left in your rooms.” His smile was pleasant but no one was left in any doubt that he intended that last instruction to be followed.

Claire Thackeray glanced at her watch and removed her mobile phone from a pocket, staring down at the display as she tapped in a number from memory. She saw Mason’s eyes on her and looked up at him with a grimace. “Managed to leave my old one on the plane on the way over here. Still haven’t worked out how to store numbers on this ruddy thing.”

“You need to find a teenager to do it for you,” Mason advised.

She gave a sharp bark of laughter then transferred her attention back to the phone as the person she was calling answered. “Mother? I haven’t woken you up, have I?” A smile curved her reddened lips. “It’s a lovely day here as well… Yes, I think a week away at a spa is exactly what I needed… What have you got planned for today?” The conversation drifted on, with Claire Thackeray taking frequent drags on her cigarette and executing some perfectly timed eye-rolls until she finally managed to extricate herself from the conversation, saying, “Must dash, mother, yes, I’ll ring you this evening.”

“A week at a health spa?” Mason commented with a bland smile.

“It’s as good an explanation as any, but I still have to phone her every day or she sulks.” She fumbled for the off button on the phone and slid it back into her pocket. “Well, that’s my duty done.” She stood up and made her way back upstairs.

A uniformed maid pushing a large laundry basket passed her in the corridor. The bed had been made and the room aired. Claire tossed the phone carelessly onto the bed and slipped off her sandals, before pulling on thick walking socks and the expensive but obviously well-worn boots. A thorough application of insect repellent followed, as advised, and Claire Thackeray pulled on a multi-pocketed safari-style waistcoat and tucked the spray away for future use.

Down in the large hallway, guests were already assembling. “Reminds me of school trips,” commented Lizzie Henderson. “I always used to eat my sandwiches before we’d even left the car park.”

“Judging by the hampers I’ve just seen in the back of one of the Land Rovers we won’t be going hungry,” her husband said. “Maybe it’s to make up for the fact that we won’t be travelling in quite such style today.”

“And we won’t run short of ammunition either,” Charlie Marsh said with an admiring glance in the direction of their transport. Yesterday’s fleet of highly-polished Range Rovers had been replaced by four drab green ex-army Land Rovers. “Dewar clearly believes in being prepared for every eventuality. I’m sure I saw someone carrying a Gimpy a minute ago.”

“We don’t all read Andy McNab books, darling,” Anne Churchill said casting a long-suffering glance at her husband.

“General purpose machine gun, Mrs Churchill,” supplied Carl Dewar. The man appeared behind the group as noiselessly as a cat despite his heavy boots. “Just a precaution, you understand.”

“Like something with a bit of stopping power, do you?” quizzed Derrick Grigson. He was a florid-faced man in his late 50s who seemed none the worse for the fact that he had single-handedly drunk a full bottle of champagne the previous night before dinner had even been served.

“There are occasions when it doesn’t go amiss,” Dewar acknowledged. He smiled at Claire Thackeray and added, “The Remington 750 you wanted has been packed, ma’am. There’ll be time for a practice session when we’ve gone through.” He glanced around the hall, obviously conducting a quick head count.

“We’re just waiting for Tony Porter,” supplied Mason. He smiled widely at his guests as he made his way down the stairs. “He got here late last night.”

“His wife isn’t coming, is she?” asked Henry Dawes with a wink.

“I bet she would, given half a chance,” Grigson laughed. “But I think she’s a bit tied up with that business on the Isle of Wight. Honestly, how on earth could anyone let a bunch of prisoners up onto a roof in this day and age? They should shoot the bloody lot of ‘em.”

“Sorry to hold everyone up,” said a fresh voice as a tall man in his mid 40s, with the bland good looks of someone who could easily have modelled suits for M&S followed Mason down the stairs, wearing yet another multi-pocketed jacket, but carrying it off with more style than most of the other guests.

Mason smiled in acknowledgement of the apology and waved a hand towards the vehicles.

His guests needed no further encouragement.

* * * * *

Stephen wandered out of the shower to find Ryan still engaged in his normal morning exercise regime, a light sheen of sweat on his back and a look of concentration on his face.

The soldier was determined to get back to full operational fitness as quickly as possible. He was back up to 200 press-ups without experiencing any problems and had kept up easily with Stephen on yesterday’s run. The doctors appeared quite happy with his recovery from the head injury that had nearly cost him his life and even Ditzy was muttering about the fact that it would be preferable to have him back on frontline duties rather than hanging around the ARC making everyone’s life a misery on the subject of paperwork.

Ryan turned smoothly over onto his back and started on a punishing routine of sit-ups, hands linked loosely behind his head, setting a pace Stephen knew he couldn’t hope to match, no matter how hard he tried.

The ringing of Ryan’s mobile phone broke the silence. Stephen fished it out of the pocket of a jacket draped over the back of a chair and tossed it to him

Ryan caught the phone deftly and took the call. “Jon? Any news?” He listened in silence then said, “OK, so it looks like nothing is going to happen before tomorrow at the earliest.” In answer to a question from Lyle, Ryan said, “I haven’t heard from Joel yet, but I’ll call him now. Yeah, I’ll get back to you if there’s anything to tell.”

“Has she checked in?” Stephen asked. Lyle had telephoned them the previous evening and brought them up to speed. They’d both been waiting to hear whether Julia Denton had made contact with her friend.

Ryan nodded. “She rang at 8.15. But according to Lyle it sounds like she promised to check in again this evening rather than giving it the full 24 hours.”

“How’s Lyle taking it?”

“He still wants to start kicking some doors down, but there’s no way Lester’s going to get clearance for that without a bloody good reason.” He ran his finger down the screen and pressed a number that Stephen knew would be Stringer’s. “Joel, how’s it going?” Ryan laughed unsympathetically at the reply and said, “You’re getting soft in your old age, mate. Do you want me to send one of the lads over to give you a break?”

Stringer and his contacts had been staking out the entrances to Mason’s estate since Friday evening, reporting on the various comings and goings of the staff and other visitors. Back at the ARC, Connor was busily checking on the registration numbers of any vehicles seen entering or leaving the estate. In view of the Home Secretary’s order to leave Ed Mason well alone, the young computer genius had been unable to go through the proper channels to get the information he needed, but Stephen had a suspicion that Connor wasn’t letting a problem like that cramp his style.

“OK, speak to you later,” Ryan told his fellow captain before ending the call. “The last person into the estate apart from staff arrived at 1.45 in the morning, driving a brand new Ferrari. Mason has certainly got some well-heeled friends.”

“Well, if they’re doing what we think they’re doing, something should come up pretty soon on that gismo of Connor’s,” Stephen said.

Connor’s new anomaly detection device had had its teething problems, but he now seemed pretty confident of its capabilities and the team was already starting to rely on it to provide accurate information about the appearance and location of anomalies, rather than simply waiting around to pick up news by other, more hit-and-miss, methods.

They had a meeting scheduled at the ARC at 2pm to share information, but unless the ADD signalled an alert before then, they had the rest of the morning to themselves. As Ryan went back to his sit-ups, Stephen leaned against the doorframe and watched as the muscles of Ryan’s abdomen clenched with each movement. Stephen loosened the towel around his waist and let it slide to the floor as he dropped a hand to his half-hard cock. Ryan wasn’t the only one capable of putting on a show.

* * * * *

The convoy of vehicles made their way through Mason’s estate, heading towards a long, low hill next to a copse of beech trees. It looked like a very large scale version of one of the many long barrows that lay scattered around the landscape in other parts of the country. As the Land Rovers came closer, one end of the mound started to rise up into the air, small clods of earth dropping to the ground as it moved, exposing a cavernous mouth previously disguised by a metal door covered with turf.

Inside the vehicles, no one spoke, but the atmosphere was now redolent with excitement. The lead Land Rover, containing Carl Dewar and three of his men, all heavily-armed, carried on straight into what had now been revealed as an artificial tunnel. Once inside, a pair of solid metal doors opened to reveal a pair of identical inner gates with just enough space between them for two vehicles, positioned bumper to bumper, like cars on a Channel Tunnel train. The second Land Rover, carrying Ed Mason, a driver and two of the guests, drew up behind it while the rest of the convoy halted in the warmth of the morning sunlight.

The outer gates swung closed, leaving two vehicles outside to wait their turn. The inner gates opened silently, away from the Land Rovers and several pairs of eyes squinted in the sudden flash of light. The drivers put their vehicles into gear and drove slowly through something that looked like a gigantic diamond that had been shattered by an even bigger hammer. A brief moment of disorientation followed and then sunlight streamed in through the windscreens.

The silence inside each of the vehicles was absolute as the Land Rovers advanced over short grass into a landscape as gentle and rolling as the Kent countryside they’d just left behind. The only difference lay in the total absence of trees and in the myriad shattered diamonds that spun lazily in the air as far as the eye could see in any direction.

A few moments later, the rest of the convoy appeared behind them and the four vehicles set off in close formation across the grass, with Dewar and his men, hard-eyed and alert, gripping a variety of weapons. The silence in each vehicle had given way to exclamations of surprise and sharp intakes of breath. Marker posts had been hammered into the ground next to several of the swirling balls of light. Each one bore a number. The Land Rovers made their way to one next to a post marked 15 and the lead vehicle containing Dewar and his men drove straight into the fragmented vortex, each of them clutching their rifles firmly against a sudden force that tried to part them from their weapons.

In the third Land Rover, Derrick Grigson swore in surprise as a pen was suddenly pulled out of his pocket to clatter against the windscreen. The driver caught the pen one-handed and a moment later, tossed it back over his shoulder. Grigson, staring open-mouthed at the abrupt change in landscape all around them as they passed through the glittering light, simply let the pen fall unheeded into the footwell.

Short grass had given way to a lush forest. Trees interspersed with giant ferns surrounded them. Dark green vegetation hung with brightly-coloured blooms swayed in a light breeze. The air was hot and humid, a far cry form the freshness of the English countryside they had left behind.

Mason had been economical with the description of what his guests could expect from the transition and he had not made any attempt to communicate by radio with any of the vehicles while the shock gradually wore off. They drove out of the trees and the convoy made its way across a wide, shallow river, the clear, unpolluted water sparkling in the sunlight. Once they had left the river behind, the wheels crunched over sun-dried debris that spoke of occasional higher-water conditions and they were soon amongst the trees again following a rough trail beaten down by their exploratory trips to find the best hunting grounds. After ten minutes driving, the lead Land Rover pulled up in a large clearing and Dewar and his men fanned out, rifles raised in readiness while the men scanned the surrounding area.

When Dewar raised a hand in a pre-arranged signal, Mason held down the button on the radio and announced, “Welcome to the Cretaceous, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure none of you need reminding that you are now in what is probably the most hostile environment the world has ever known. Mr Dewar and his men are here to ensure your safety. Please follow their instructions at all times. You will all receive a personal radio and instructions on its use. Keep it with you at all time and do not, I repeat, do not wander off on your own. If you do, I cannot be responsible for what might happen. If ordered to return to the vehicles, please do so immediately, without question. I can assure you that you will all receive your money’s worth from Gallifrey Ventures, but from now on, instructions are to be obeyed at all times. Now, if you’d be so kind as to leave the vehicles, Mr Dewar will equip you all with the weapons of your choice and we’ll make our way to the hunting grounds.”

Wearing a self-satisfied smile, Mason opened the door of his Land Rover and stepped out to be surrounded immediately by the low drone of insects and the rich, loamy smell of warm earth.

The sight of ten multi-millionaires, who had visited practically every exotic location the world had to offer, reduced to stunned silence told him all he needed to know. Basically, he could name his own price for this sort of experience and they’d be happy to pay it.

A couple of Dewar’s men lifted the gun cases out of the vehicles and began their distribution. The guests weren’t here simply to admire the wildlife from a distance. They’d paid a premium price for an excursion with a difference, even though they wouldn’t be able to mount their trophies on their walls afterwards.

As far as Mason was concerned, with the whole of time at his disposal a few creatures here or there would make no difference and he certainly hadn’t drawn his clientele from the ranks of panda-hugging conservationists. His guests took a pragmatic approach to wildlife as evidenced by the number of hunting rifles being handed out.

He checked his watch. They’d been away from Farnley Hall less than an hour and had a full day ahead of them. He was already confident that they would all be paying for another trip. The looks on their faces told him all he needed to know.

* * * * *

Stephen pillowed his head on Ryan’s shoulder, lying in a sweat-soaked sprawl, as his lover’s fingers played idly with Stephen’s well-fucked hole.

“Stop listening to my heart rate,” Ryan muttered, dipping one finger into Stephen’s body and rubbing it lightly over his over-sensitive prostate.

“Stop trying to distract me,” Stephen countered, wriggling away from the probing digit. “Anyway, there’s nothing wrong with your heart rate.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling Ditz.”

“You could try getting him to watch a heart-monitor while you shag him senseless,” Stephen suggested, flicking his tongue across one of Ryan’s nipples and tasting the salty tang of the other man’s sweat.

“Ditzy doesn’t go for blokes.”

“That’s what Lyle said before he took up with Lester.”

Ryan laughed. “I’m not letting that bastard’s cold hands anywhere near my cock, thank you very much, Hart. Besides, his girlfriend would thread my balls on a kebab stick if I tried it, and believe me, you wouldn’t want to mess with Claire. Why, fancy watching me fuck another bloke, do you?”

Stephen shifted position up onto one elbow and grinned speculatively down at Ryan. “Maybe. We came bloody close to it in the barn that day with Jon and Lester, didn’t we?”

Ryan’s own grin took on a slightly feral edge. “Yeah, but I wasn’t convinced that dicking my boss’s boyfriend while he was watching was entirely wise, especially not when Lyle’s the one I rely on for back-up when the chips are down.”

“Didn’t worry the Spartans,” Stephen pointed out. “Or the Thebans.”

Ryan groaned. “You’ve been reading books again, Hart.”

Stephen bent down and kissed Ryan lightly on the lips. “No sense of adventure, that’s your problem.”

“I deal with dinosaurs on a daily basis, sweetheart, that’s adventurous enough for me.”

Stephen deepened the kiss, dipping his tongue into Ryan’s mouth. They had a couple of hours to fill before they were due at the ARC for the afternoon meeting Lester had called and he was happy to make the most of it. Memories of the session in the barn at the Mitchells’ hotel in the Forest of Dean when Ryan and Lyle had squared off against each other in a series of increasingly dangerous games were already starting to stir some interest in his spent cock…

* * * * *

Claire Thackeray lay full length on a bed of fern leaves, sighting through the scope on the Remington 570 hunting rifle, its weight supported by a small tripod. Her quarry was at no more than 500 metres and the rifle itself had an effective range of over double that.

Carl Dewar stood with his back to the bole of a massive pine tree, eyes scanning the landscape for threats. In the last couple of hours he’d worked out pretty quickly that the main problem lay in the tendency of his employer’s guests to get over-excited and simply wander off in pursuit of bigger and better game. They were on the second hunting ground of the morning, about ten kilometres to the west of where they’d started from. As he’d expected, there was already pressure from the guests to split into two groups so they could cover more ground, giving each person more opportunity to have a crack at the good stuff before the noise of the guns drove the game out of the area.

He had resisted that idea so far, but he had a feeling Mason was about to succumb to his guests’ blandishments. Dewar had six guards for ten guests and he wasn’t happy with the prospect of spreading his forces more thinly. No matter what the trigger-happy group thought, this environment was very different indeed from anywhere else they’d been, including the parts of the African rain forests were there were plenty of people ready to earn a living by guiding hunters to remote areas where over-stretched and under-paid reserve wardens held no sway. The worst they’d probably faced there was a silverback gorilla who didn’t like trespassers, but here there was no shortage of things ready, willing and able to attack anyone who ventured into the wrong territory and it was only a matter of time before the bloody corpses now littering the ground started to attract the really big predators.

“In your own time, ma’am,” Dewar murmured, hoping his words would have exactly the opposite effect on Claire Thackeray. The length of time she’d taken to line up this shot was already starting to make the other members of the group impatient and he was worried they’d start trying to wander off again.

He watched as she made one last check on the enormous creature that was peacefully grazing on the tops of a clump of ferns. It was an ugly sod, with a bright red bump on the top of its snout. Some sort of bony growth, from what he could see, but he had no idea what purpose it served unless it was to make the lumbering beast look more ferocious. The creature stopped, turned its head, peering myopically in the direction of the group and their vehicles and then it stretched its fleshy neck and emitted a load, rumbling bellow just as Claire Thackeray squeezed the trigger.

The shot went wide, punching though the fern fronds. The loud crack of the rifle report startled the beast and it moved off with surprising speed for something so bulky.

“Bugger it!” the woman exclaimed in annoyance. “I was certain I was going to be lucky that time.”

Dewar bit back his irritation and managed to stop himself pointing out that lack of luck had nothing to do with it. She’d waited too long to take the shot, it was as simple as that.

“Never mind, my dear,” Ed Mason said smoothly. “You just need a bit of time to get used to that Remington. Maybe a few practice shots would help? I was thinking of suggesting we took a trip to another spot after lunch where you can get your eye in. I’ve got a few targets you can use to get that Remington set up the way you’d like it.”

Dewar shot Mason an irritated glance. This was the last thing he needed.

Mason waved an airy hand. “I’ll take Ben with me, Carl, no needed to worry. Claire won’t come to any harm with us.” The look Mason was giving him told Dewar quite plainly that his employer wasn’t expecting an argument and wouldn’t be pleased to get one.

Dewar shrugged. “As you like, boss.”

Claire Thackeray stood up, brushing leaves off her clothes. “I’m sure I’ll be fine after a few more shots. No need to make special arrangements for me.”

Dewar knew his employer well enough to catch the momentary flash of anger in the man’s eyes at the casual way the woman had brushed off the suggestion and he wondered why Mason seemed keen to get the woman away from the rest of the group.

The mercenary slung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder. They would need to move on, anyway. That last shot had disturbed the herd of grazers who were now steadily moving off to the west.

“I think you’ll find now is a good time for an early lunch, ladies and gentlemen,” Mason announced. “After that, I imagine we’ll find that the fruits of this morning’s labours will have started to attract some interest.”

“I want a T. rex or I’ll be asking for my money back,” laughed Derrick Grigson, but Dewar knew the man was only half-joking. It was quite obvious that despite the fact that they’d already seen sights that no human being had ever seen before, they all desperately wanted the icing on the cake.

It was the most feared predator ever to walk the earth, if the books were to be believed. Having seen one even at a comfortable distance a few days previously, Dewar could understand the fascination. He wanted a crack at one himself, but he’d have to bide his time. The guests needed to satisfy their own blood lust first.

But not before they’d downed large amounts of smoked salmon sandwiches and a few bottles of chilled champagne. Something else that wasn’t usually available in the African rainforest.

“You’ll get your wish, Derrick,” Mason smiled. “Trust me.”

And Dewar was pretty sure his employer’s confidence wasn’t misplaced. They’d left enough bait around, he was certain something was going to bite.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

thelibraniniquity

Oooooh! Now it's all starting to come together. I liked the descriptions of the hunting party, and I'm half wondering whether Mason's managed to shield the anomaly from being detected somehow.

From:

Fic, Crow on the Cradle, Part 7 of 15, Stephen/Ryan, Lester/Lyle, 18

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