by KJ Griffin
***
James McPherson kept low in the dark passageway, pressing his right side tight into the wall. There were sounds of sporadic gunfire away towards the Library and in the direction of Big Ben, but immediately around him the air was dust-drenched and quiet.
McPherson knew that the terrorists had mined some of the corridors, so with a soldier's discipline he had restrained the urge to make a dash for safety, carefully probing his way forward step by step.
He froze when he heard the footsteps coming down from the tourists' passage up to the Visitors' Gallery. He spun round and shouldered his weapon, cocking an ear and holding his breath. The footsteps were quick and erratic, coming closer all the time.
He thought he recognized the woman terrorist but he let her come closer just to make sure.
No doubt about it. Through the dust and smoke Maria Vasquez hadn't even spotted him. It was easy pickings. He tapped off three quick shots from five paces, then carried on ahead into the Central Lobby.
He hadn't killed the woman outright, for he could hear her wailing in agony behind. Almost perfect! He wished Maria Vasquez all the pain of a tortuously slow death.
The Central Lobby was a wreck. Part of the ceiling from the Central Tower had collapsed, piling rubble all across the floor. From here on, McPherson was sure the way through to St Stephen's Porch was free from mines, so he hurried round the corner, making use of the dark and dust.
He took the five steps leading down into St Stephen's Hall one at a time, then froze. Through the smoke he could make out a figure walking directly towards him.
‘My God! Bailey!’ he murmured softly in recognition. ‘And unarmed! Well, this really has worked out to perfection after all.’
Al-Ajnabi stopped in his tracks. In the half-light he was just able to make out the barrel of McPherson's weapon trained straight on his chest. This was checkmate and he knew it.
Keeping the Kalashnikov level, McPherson carried on:
‘Look, Bailey, I realize that I'm supposed to give you some sort of farewell speech after all that's happened between us and after all the lengths you've been to get even with me – but I'm afraid I'm not going to bother with any of that! I'm just going to kill you here and now while I've got the chance. You can get on your knees if you prefer.’
While McPherson spoke Al-Ajnabi frantically calculated the distance between them. Too far for him to make a successful lunge at McPherson, too near for McPherson to miss.
He dived to his right across the passageway. At least on the floor in this light McPherson would find it hard to see him.
The shots came, but Al-Ajnabi realized straight away that they were not AK47 rounds. He counted four of them before he heard the body drop.
Then it all went quiet. Al-Ajnabi thought he had lost his hearing altogether but every once in a while the sound of laboured breathing and intermittent gunfire came into his good ear.
‘Over here, Robbie,’ a voice eventually called out from across the hallway.
It was Max.
Al-Ajnabi got slowly to his feet and walked across the hallway towards the sound of the voice. He found Clayton slumped against the wall, cradling his own Heckler and Koch.
‘You… you've killed McPherson, Max!’
‘Just like the wanker said, I took the chance while I could, Robbie. I was just twenty-something years too late, wasn’t I? I say, do you think that makes us even now, my old mate?’
Al-Ajnabi stepped closer to his old friend and knelt down opposite him. Clayton's left leg was crushed underneath Walpole's heavy statue and his face was badly cut by flying glass.
‘Leave it!’ Clayton snapped as Al-Ajnabi steadied himself to move the statue. ‘You haven't got time for that. You've got to move fast.’
‘Move? Where?’
‘Out. Your trousers will be alright, don't worry about them, but take off my shirt, jacket and tie. The security pass is on the jacket, but take my wallet as well just to make sure.’
Al-Ajnabi frowned.
‘Sure of what?’
‘Just walk straight out of St Stephen's Porch and through the security lines, Robbie. Pretend you're me. We've always looked pretty damn similar. In the darkness, and with all the mayhem I can hear inside and out the Palace, they'll be fooled for long enough. Just act brash and arrogant and get the hell out while you can. If you stay in here you're dead, whatever happens. The PM made it quite clear to the SAS that you're not to come out of here alive whatever happens. They don't want the embarrassment of a trial and a people's martyr sitting in prison, airing all their awkward secrets to the press.’
Al-Ajnabi put his hand on Max's shoulder and started to laugh softly despite the hail of small arms fire that was coming ever closer towards them from the direction of the river.
‘Good God, Max! You? You of all people? First you save my life now you offer me a way out of a dead end? Why?’
‘Because you got me wrong all along, Robbie. The past never sat easy with me, you know, despite what you thought. I didn't go to Walvis Bay to kill you; I went to warn you of what Easterby and McPherson were up to and to try and make amends. And besides that, there's someone else - two other people in fact - who want me to save you, so let's just say I'm doing it for them.’
‘Alison as well?’ he asked. ‘Despite what happened between me and Sophie?’
Clayton nodded and swallowed laboriously, either in pain, emotional embarrassment or both.
‘Look, there's no time for any more explanations. You really must get out while you still can, Robbie. We haven't the time for all the emotional baggage right now. Do me a favour and get rid of this for me on your way out,’ he said, handing over the Heckler and Koch. ‘I don't need to ask you to wipe the prints clean.’
Al-Ajnabi rose to his feet.
‘What will you do, Max?’
‘I'll pretend to be unconscious for as long as I can. They'll have to take me to hospital anyway to fix this leg. I think it's broken. I'll have had total memory loss since the explosion. Only you and I will know it wasn't you or one of yours who did for that Scottish git on the floor there. Do you think that secret can stay with us, Robbie?’
Al-Ajnabi knelt down and put a hand on Clayton's shoulder.
‘Thanks, Max. And I really mean that,’ he said, choking back his emotions. ‘We're much better than even; you've gone way beyond that.’
‘Don't thank me till you're safe - and you're not yet,’ Clayton answered, panting in pain. ‘So just get the hell out, Robbie. Oh, you might find these useful as well,’ he added, offering a set of car keys. ‘It's parked in Parker Street just opposite the Conference Centre. Dark blue Golf.’
Al-Ajnabi took the keys and hoisted Clayton's tie into position, straightened the jacket and made sure the security pass was prominent on the lapel.
‘See you, Max,’ he shouted behind, jogging down the dark hallway.
‘Insh'Allah,’ Clayton muttered.