“Sure,” Clare replies though she doesn’t sound convinced.
Stepping out of the room, Jessie looks across to the door leading down to the cellar. Stella could be down there, but she doubts it—far too creepy. She’ll check the laundry room first. As she walks across the floor towards the hallway that leads further into the house, creaks from behind the cellar door catch her attention. She smiles. She did go down! Good girl.
Jessie takes a final stride and pulls the cellar door open. A waft of mildew fills her nose, but there’s another scent, almost pine-like. It’s unfamiliar, but similar to ones she’s smelt before. As she realises the aroma reminds her of a man’s eau de cologne, a face rises out of the gloom.
She gasps as the man towers over her, his broad shoulders filling the narrow doorway. As she stumbles back in horror he grabs the collar of her jacket.
“Where’s your mother?” he asks in a voice chilling in its quiet demand.
Jessie stares back at him. Her senses reeling.
“My mother?”
“Yes, your mother?”
He sounds Russian! “I ... I don’t know.”
“Pah!” he says pushing her back against the wall.
Her backside hits the metal edge of the radiator and she flinches at the pain. “I don’t know where she is,” Jessie repeats staring up into the clear blue of his eyes. He pushes at her again, his forearm forced beneath her chin. The pressure squashes at her windpipe as he walks her backwards across the hallway.
Jessie chops at his ribs as he rams her into the wall. Her hand catches against something firm as they hit his jacket. A holster. He’s carrying a gun!
“She’s here. I know that. Now tell me where she is,” he demands.
The pressure is unbearable. She nods. He loosens the pressure a fraction though his grip remains strong. She has no intention of telling him where her mother could be. There are numerous places she could hide in the house.
“The door ...” she gasps as she pulls air into her lungs, “it was open when I got here. She must have left.”
“Nope! I’ve been watching. She hasn’t left.”
A rap at the front door and then Alex’s footsteps thud on the stairs as he makes his way down. The man swings to look to the door and then the stairs whilst maintaining his grip on Jessie’s throat. In that second’s distraction, Jessie makes her move. Grabbing inside his jacket, she pulls the gun strapped to his ribs out of its sheath. Too late, he turns with a snarl as he realises his mistake and Jessie thrusts the muzzle into the soft flesh beneath his jaw. The pressure on her throat increases and his eyes remain steely.
Thud!
The front door judders.
In one swift movement, he grabs her arm and pulls the gun from beneath his chin. The strength in his arm is immense. As he wraps his fingers around her wrist and squeezes, she pulls the trigger. The bullet slices through the air and smashes into the ornately moulded rose on the ceiling. He grimaces and increases the pressure on her hand as Alex takes the final steps down the stairs and runs across the room.
The front door bursts open and a figure steps into the hallway.
Jessie is thrust back against the wall as Alex launches himself at the blond. The gun skittles across the floor. Alex grabs the blond from behind, hooking his arms around his throat. He lurches backwards. With a roar, the blond giant twists and throws Alex from his shoulders simultaneously slamming Jessie against the floor.
She sees the gun. Planting her feet against the wall, she shunts across the floor, flips and stretches her arm to grasp the firearm. As her fingers close around the gun, a hand reaches down and covers hers.
“Andy!” she gasps as he prises at her fingers. She grasps the gun tighter and pulls it away. He frowns but holds out his hand to help her up. Ignoring his hand, she jumps to her feet and swivels around. The blond has Alex by the throat and is reaching into his pocket.
“Stop or I’ll shoot,” she says keeping her voice strong. Her heart is beating wildly, but she has to show her strength. ‘No weakness, Lockhart’.
The blond turns to her and a blade springs open and spikes from his grip as Clare steps into the hallway.
“Drop the knife,” Clare shouts and points the terrorist’s pistol at his head.
He assesses Clare, then turns back to Jessie. With two guns trained on him he meets her gaze and holds it. For those seconds they exchange an intense glare. She shows no weakness. “Drop the knife or I’ll shoot,” she repeats with absolute calm. “You’ve got five seconds ... Five, four.” He stares at her and smiles. “Three.” Surely he’ll drop the knife? “Two.”
Ignoring her he pulls Alex to him, the length of the blade firm against his throat, and retreats to the kitchen. She follows as he drags Alex to the back door. As he steps out, he slices at Alex’s neck and then pushes him. Alex lurches and falls across the kitchen table.
“Alex!” Jessie shouts as the blond disappears.
She runs to the door, slams it shut then clicks the latch to locked. Alex bends over the table, clutching his neck. Blood seeps between his fingers.
“Let me look!”
Alex stands tall and turns. The blood is seeping but not gushing. Jessie gently pulls at his hand, the blood trickles.
“It’s long, but not deep,” she says as she inspects the wound. “Here,” she says pulling at a drawer. “Use this to cover it, the blood will stop soon. You OK?”
“Yeah,” he nods. “Now, where are your mother and sister?”
“I-”
“Who was that?” Clare asks as she steps into the kitchen. Andy follows close behind, his face ashen.
“What the hell is going on, Jessie?” he asks with a concerned frown at Alex.
“I have no idea!” she says thankful that he’s here. “But he wanted my mother and I don’t think it was a friendly visit!”
“A hitman?”
“I don’t know about that, but maybe.”
“That’s a bit far-fetched,” Andy returns. “The city is in chaos—he was probably a thief.”
“That’s crazy, Jessie. Why would anyone want to kill your mother?”
“I’m sure he’s just a thief,” Andy continues. “I came over when I realised how bad things were getting in the city. I didn’t want Clarissa to be on her own.”
“No, he wasn’t just a thief,” Jessie insists. “He asked for her, by name!”
Movement behind Andy catches Jessie’s attention. “He is a professional—Russian.”
“What?” Jessie stares at the unkempt man with blood caked through his hair and beard. “How do you know? And who the hell are you?” Jessie asks.
“Bill. He was waiting for Clarissa this morning—at her office. He attacked her there. I brought her home. I thought she was safe, but obviously not,” he says.
Jessie looks from Alex, to Andy, to the blood-covered Bill in confusion. “At her office?”
“Yes.”
“Why would he go to her office?”
“She didn’t tell me,” he replies.
“Where is she now?”
“She’s here—at least I think she is. I haven’t seen her leave. After I brought her home, I decided to hang around for a bit. The city’s not a safe place, and-”
“We know,” Clare adds with empathy. “Getting back here hasn’t exactly been easy.”
“I checked upstairs, Jessie. There’s no sign of her or Stella,” Alex adds.
“Well, if she’s not upstairs and she’s not outside then she must be down here—somewhere.” Jessie scans the large hallway as though it will give her the answers. Her eyes alight on the cellar door once more. They couldn’t be down there, that’s where he’d been hidden, unless ... She steps forward and peers down the steps again. “Mum!” she calls and places a foot onto the top step. “Mum, it’s me, Jessie.” She listens. Nothing. “Mum! Stella! It’s me, are you down there. He’s gone now.” A shuffling then something is pushed along the brickwork floor of the cellar. Jessie smiles.
“Jessie!” St
ella calls. “We’re here.”
“Thank God!”
“Mum?” she calls again.
“I’m here!”
Jessie turns. “They’re both here,” she says with relief as Andy peers over her shoulder. His face is dark with concern but he smiles as she speaks.
Within seconds Stella appears, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, Jessie. We were so scared. My heart is pounding so hard,” she says falling against her. As Jessie reaches her arm across her sister’s shoulders her mother appears. A bruise is darkening at her hairline and there’s the remnants of blood in her hair.
“Oh, Mum! What’s happened.”
“I don’t even know where to start, darling!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
As the water comes to the boil in the small pan on top of the camping stove, Jessie pours it into the teapot and watches the teabags float to the surface in the steaming water. She puts the lid on then turns to the room.
“Don’t let it brew too long, Jess.”
“No, Mum!” It didn’t matter how old she was, as soon as she stepped back through the door she was just a child again.
She pulls up a chair and joins the others at the kitchen table. Every window in the house has been locked, and large pieces of furniture have been pushed up against each door.
“We should go to the police,” Stella suggests. “They should know about the Russian so that they can help protect Mum.”
“I don’t think that will help. There’s no sign of the police or military on the streets—at least there wasn’t when we came through,” Jessie explains. “And even if they are starting to respond to the emergency, dealing with this isn’t going to be a priority—they’ll have their hands full just dealing with looters and the other criminals that are crawling out from under their stones.” And the terrorists waging their campaign of destruction! She sighs and twists her hair through her fingers. Alex gives her a knowing look.
“Alex! Can I speak to you—alone?”
“Yes!” he says and pushes up from the table.
As soon as they’re in the living room, Jessie turns and closes the door.
“What are we going to do?” she asks with an explosive sigh. Keeping back what they’d discovered about the terrorists whilst she dealt with her mother’s ‘problem’ has pushed her to the limits of endurance.
“We have to tell the authorities,” Alex states.
“Yes, but what about my mother? I can’t just leave her here. What if he comes back?” She strides to the window then turns, her brows knitted in frustration. “I just wanted to get them ...” she stops. What’s the point of concealing it any longer? There wasn’t any! “I just wanted to get them to the safehouse—to Bramwell!” she blurts and walks back to the hearth and slaps her hand against the mantle.
“Safehouse?”
“Yes,” she says turning to Alex. “We have a house—in the north. No one else knows about it—she always said it was our bolthole if things ... if the shit hit the fan.”
“I can see where you get your ideas from now! What does your mother do—exactly?”
“She investigates fraud: international fraud, money laundering, dodgy tax deals—that kind of thing.”
“Russian mafia kind of stuff?” he asks raising his brows.
“Well, I never imagined that, but given tonight—then yes, I think so.”
“No wonder she wanted a bolthole!”
“That’s not what made her keep the house to be honest. She’s not been in the job that long. No. It was my father who insisted on buying the house and keeping it a secret and making it ready if we ever needed it—he was always very aware of political tensions and said we needed somewhere to go if the shit hit the fan. After he died, Mum said it was her duty to keep his dream alive—he was passionate about keeping us safe.” She grows silent. “The thing is ...” she falters, “danger is everywhere ... we have to make ourselves safe—right here, right now.”
“I don’t understand, Jessie.”
“Being safe isn’t about running away to somewhere hidden. Well, it is, but ... we should be safe on the streets and in our homes—not living in fear.”
“True, but—”
“We have to make our country safe! We have to be prepared by learning to defend ourselves and fighting back against the people who want to harm us—that’s being safe too.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I joined up—to make a difference.”
“You are doing.”
“Yes, but I’m just one person and look around! There are hundreds if not thousands of people out there who want to bring us down and turn our country into a ‘cesspit of violence and disease’. That’s what they said, right?”
“You’re right, but there are thousands more who need us to stop that happening!” Alex replies with passion. “Jessie, we can make a difference. We’re here to protect our country and that’s what we’ve been doing today. It’s what we’re going to do tomorrow as well. You know we have to talk to the authorities despite what’s going on here.”
“Yes, but my mother and Stella need-”
“I know. They need to be protected, but there are millions of people in this country who need protecting too.”
“I don’t care about the millions-”
“Yes, you do! Listen. Your mother should leave for the safehouse with Stella, Andy and Bill. We can make sure they have the provisions they need, even find a car and they can leave in the morning. Tomorrow, we have to go to the police and tell them what we know—they’re the ones who need to take action!”
Jessie pushes her hands through her hair and stares at him. She knows he’s right but putting it off until the morning makes her anxious. She nods. “Yes, yes, OK. We’ll do that.”
“Good! Do we tell the others?”
“About the terrorists?”
“Yes, we should. They need to be alert—we all do.”
“OK,” Jessie replies and looks to the windows. The night is drawing in and the curtains remain open letting in what little light remains.
“Agreed?”
“Agreed. I’ll talk to Andy and Mum.”
“What about Bill? He’s ex-military.”
“I thought he might be. Have you spoken to him?”
“Yeah, he’s army—served in Afghanistan and Iraq and a few other places.”
“Why’s he on the streets then?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”
“Hmm. Well ... there must be a reason.”
“I know, but I didn’t want to delve.”
“I need to know I can trust him.”
“He saved your mum this morning and came back to keep an eye on her, I think you can trust him.”
“Yeah, I hear what you’re saying, but ... I’ll talk to him myself—later.”
“OK. So what’s the plan?”
“Well, I think what you said works: Mum, Andy, Bill, and Stella should go up to Bramwell in the morning. I want Clare to go too—that means they’ve got at least two military trained people to protect them. We can find a car in the morning—I think Mr Clayton has a vintage model that he keeps at a garage at the end of the road. Perhaps he’ll let us have it.”
“Perhaps?” Alex replies with a raised eyebrow. He doesn’t sound convinced.
“Well, maybe not, but I’m sure we’ll find one for sale ... somewhere?” She shrugs. “Once they’ve gone, we alert the authorities and tell them what we know about the ‘Days of Fire’ ... Tsk!”
“What is it?”
“Days of Fire! It’s pathetic—so dramatic.”
“Yes, but deadly, Jessie.”
“Yes,” she replies anger boiling as she recalls the loathing with which the terrorist had spoken of the ‘dirty English’ and the gruesome details he’d delighted in as he’d told them of the fires he’d set and the people he’d watched die. He seemed to revel in their pain—that’s what finally convinced her to ‘execute’ him—he was getting a kick out of it. Evil—pure evil.
“Well, are you ready?”
“Yes, let’s go and talk to them.”
“WE’VE MADE IT AS SAFE as we can here,” Jessie explains to Stella and the others gathered around the kitchen table. “There are enough supplies to get you up to Bramwell and when you get there the house is stocked with enough provisions for at least a month.”
“There’s a well and we have a wood-burning stove,” Clarissa explains smiling at Bill and Andy as they listen to the plan. “We can even have hot water!”
“Tonight, we can all stay here. We’ve got enough food and water to get through this evening and the next few days if necessary. We’ll take what we don’t use with us.”
“I don’t think I’ll sleep very well!”
“We’ll take it in turns to keep watch,” she says with her best reassuring smile, “and in the morning we’ll leave for Bramwell.”
Clarissa sighs and leans back in her chair. It’s the first time Jessie has seen the frown leave her face since she’d stepped out of the cellar.
“Jessie’s right,” her mother agrees. “We’re comfortable here now. A good night’s sleep and things will look better in the morning.”
“But what if he comes back, Clarissa?” Bill adds.
“You can help us keep watch,” Alex suggests. “That way there’s always someone to keep a check on the doors and windows whilst the others get some sleep.”
“Hah! Sleep,” her mother laughs.
“You need it, Mum. You look washed out,” Stella joins in.
“I don’t think I’ll get much sleep tonight, darling, but I’ll try,” she says and gently strokes the girl’s arm. Stella leans her head against their mother’s shoulder.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
A knock at the back door has them all on edge.
“Yoohoo! Clarissa! Jessie!”
“Mrs Clayton!” Jessie sighs with a smile and turns to open the kitchen door.
“I went to the front door, Jessie, but there was no answer. Do you know that the wood’s split? Are you all alright?” she asks craning her neck to look into the candle-lit kitchen.
“Yes, Mrs Clayton, we’re all fine.”
“Oh, good! Then,” she says with an apologetic smile, “do you have that stove you promised? Mr Clayton would love a cup of tea and I’ve even convinced him that we won’t be poisoned by the gas!”
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