Eyes Read online

Eyes

  Copyright Gary Weston 2012

  AUDIOBOOK version of this story Eyes, combined with Oceans of Death, Sick, Tin Man and a full length Death Flight, can be found at distribly.com with the link below. Over five hours of nerve jangling stories in one audiobook, "A Little Bit Creepy" narrated by the author

  https://www.distribly.com/user-profile/8786?aid=8786

  Other bargain priced audiobooks by this author on distribly.com are

  The Amazing Abbey Jones

  Starlight Army

  One Man's Dream

  All Mixed Up (1 to 4 and 5 to 8 of the complete series)

  The Fix It Lady, Ghosts and Other Family and Fix A Broken Life (in one book)

  Last Flight For Craggy

  Eyes

  Where to begin? To the person reading my journal this must mean only one thing. This world no longer has the dubious pleasure of my company. Call me old fashioned for keeping such a thing as a journal in this age of computers and satellites, and three dimensional televisions. So be it. I care not for labels. Most of this tome consists of my various escapades and journeys around this world we share. However, of all my many strange experiences, many good and some not so good, this simple tale I'm about to recant, defies all possible explanation. I offer no conjecture as to what happened, for plausible unravelling eludes me yet. Also, dear reader, forgive my shaky hand as I endeavour to control my pen.

  I have slept little for the last five days and nights, and my appetite has diminished to the point that I wonder if I will ever eat again. One further thing you should be aware of, is although I am mentally and physically drained, my mind is nonetheless lucid and under the circumstances, functioning better than I've a right to expect of it. But then again, perhaps I am insane? Perhaps because of what happened, or at least I think happened, my mind could not handle my perception of the truth any longer. In the final analysis I leave it to you to decide.

  My name, as it states on the front, is Anthony Harper. I am a thief. Oh, not a mere pilferer of trinkets, but a jewel thief of immeasurable talent. During my twenty five years of an exciting career, I have relieved the fabulously wealthy from around the globe of Jewellery with an estimated monetary value exceeding eighteen and a half million pounds. It could have been substantially more, but I am not a greedy person and, as you can see from my home, I have lived quite modestly.

  For my every day living expenses, I discreetly sold the least valuable and ostentatious pieces to only a handful of trusted dealers, knowing the stones would be remounted and old fittings melted down for the gold content. It provided me with more than adequate funds for a comfortable life. My care and attention to detail has also meant I have avoided being arrested during my career. I never married, never wanted too. Most, but not all of my lady friends over the years were little more than victims of my trade, having their family heirlooms duplicated by a craftsman of my acquaintance, his name naturally I will never divulge, and the original piece making its way into my collection.

  Please do not feel too sorry for the ladies involved. I made sure that during the few months I wooed and courted them, they were treated like princesses by me. I was always attentive, entertaining and dare I say it, a more than satisfactory lover. When the time to depart arrived, as inevitably it had to, it would invariably be on the premise of urgent business in foreign parts, with just a hint it was somehow at the request of the British Government. With my heart apparently breaking with me having no choice but to put my country before my very own happiness, one final night of passion was generally the conclusion of the affair.

  And so it came about that after more than two decades of gathering my almost priceless collection, with the intention of selling it for a considerable fortune to spend in my final years to wallow in fabulous luxury, circumstances found a way of intervening. It began, I recall quite clearly, with a letter. My house of nearly twenty years, had, apparently, been built on less than solid foundations. Immediately below the house it was recently discovered was an ancient mine. It was common knowledge that the area was criss-crossed with such things, many having no records of their existence. Due to minor seismic vibrations, the mines under my house and also seven other houses in my lane, were in imminent danger of collapsing and we were all to evacuate immediately.

  I must admit that after recovering from the initial shock, I could take some comfort that God had not decided to make an example of me for all my past transgressions. Also, we were to be fully compensated for the houses, but not the contents. We would be allowed to make arrangements to have the contents removed, with anything remaining to be between ourselves and our insurance companies. The houses would be boarded up at five PM the following day and anyone staying in the property during the interim did so at their own risk.

  I must admit, I have little time for material possessions, and with a substantial fortune at hand, I could easily buy a much grander house and furnish it with the finest available. I loved my jewels but only in as much as I admired their beauty and the skill of the crafts-person who created them. To me, they were simply a commodity and it was evidently time to cash them in.

  Naturally, things are not as simple as that. It takes time to organise things and very careful planning. I needed somewhere to hide my jewels. It could be for a day or two, but it could also be weeks. To carry such wealth about with me only invited trouble. There were too many unsavoury characters about these days. One idea did occur to me, however. It was a cave. Odd you might think. Let me explain. I'm a twitcher. That isn't some spasmodic affliction, but the general term for my one and only hobby. Bird watching. A strange recreational pursuit for a jewel thief, one might say.

  But I have had plenty of excitement in the execution of my art and enough companionship and socialising as I needed. The splendid isolation of being out on some woodland path, or rocky crag, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, that was just for me. It was about forty miles from my house, just beyond the village of Little Cragsnor; I had parked my Lexus and ambled up a rough path through a copse to a hill. The hill was steep, but I have always maintained my fitness, and I was soon at the top with a spectacular view of half the county. That alone was worth the effort, but it was something else I had seen in the area that had attracted me. I had seen an osprey. It had been just a glimpse out of the car window as I had driven along on some business.

  Traffic was light along that B road, so I stopped and watched the bird with my field glasses that I always keep in my glove box for just such occasions. That very next day I returned and I saw the magnificent creature circling as it hunted. The remote landscape over which it hovered was ideal for it to nest. Lying down on the top of the hill, I watched it and my spirit soared to match the effortless flight of the bird. I could see the nest below a craggy outcrop sheltered in a cleft in the rock face. I thought I saw the female and two chicks. It was a sight I had witnessed only once before, on holiday in Wales.

  But something else caught my eye. Below the nest by some fifty yards, was a cave. The ground below that was another thirty yards. This wasn't just a hole nature made in the cliff. It had at some time or other, been used by people. From the cave mouth a path made by foot-traffic over decades, had overgrown to be almost but not quite covered with vegetation. The path and cave obviously hadn't been used for many years. Should I ever need a temporary home for my jewels I thought, this cave couldn't be more perfect. And now, due to circumstances beyond my control, it was time to put that discovery to good use.

  I collected a few odds and ends, my grandfather's pocket watch of only sentimental value, a small album of family photographs, an intricately carved wooden dragon that made me marvel of how some simple, poor and unappreciated crafts-person possibly sitting outside some shack could produce such exquisite work pro
bably given away to some hard hearted dealer for a days food. If given the choice between one of my fine gems and this amazing piece from a gifted carver, it would be a hard decision.

  So, I loaded up my bags with things that to me had meaning and took off with them in my Lexus to the hastily rented cottage where perhaps you found my journal. When it comes to some things, I am decidedly single minded. The stealing of my jewels and the protection of my jewels would be a prime example. I passed the site of the osprey and the cave, not daring to look in that direction. A few miles on, I arrived at the cottage, not plush, but adequate and furnished. Having had the foresight to bring with me sufficient food for a few days, I prepared myself a simple meal and contemplated my future. I would hide the jewels in the cave for a few days while I made arrangements for their disposal. At best, I would get only one quarter of their market value, but four million was enough for a very comfortable life.

  I slept late and it was past nine when I awoke. I had one task planned for that day, one task only. I dressed appropriately in jeans, check shirt, hiking boots, and a waterproof jacket. After the lightest of