by Ellis, Tim
‘I don’t fucking know.’
‘If we go outside they’ll arrest us, and call us criminals, terrorists, traitors, or . . .’
‘Yeah, you have a history of being a traitor . . .’
‘I also have a history of dealing with these bastards. After they’ve raped and tortured us . . .’
‘Us?’
‘Yeah, all right – me. You’re a bit old and crappy looking.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome. Anyway, after the fun, we’ll simply disappear.’
‘What’s plan B?’
‘We keep going down. We can hold them off in the cellar. I have a Glock, more bullets . . .’
‘How many more?’
‘Enough. I also have a phone and a tablet. We can contact people, the TV and newspapers, let them know the truth . . .’
‘Okay, I like that idea.’
They carried on down until they ran out of stairs, and were faced with a door that stated: MAINTENANCE STAFF ONLY.
It was unlocked.
Scylla opened the door and ran through into the maintenance corridor. ‘Left or right?’ she asked.
‘Stop asking stupid questions – pick one.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I don’t think running for my life through the hospital in the middle of the night was what the doctor had in mind when he suggested that I keep active.’
She turned right. ‘We’ll stop up here and take a breather.’
After about fifty yards the corridor split into three – straight on, left and right. ‘Okay, let’s take a break.’
‘Got any water?’
‘No.’
‘Great.’ Breathing heavy, Xena slid down the wall of the left-hand corridor.
Scylla put a round in the chamber of the Uzi and slid the safety catch off.
‘What are you . . .?’
The basement door crashed open.
They heard running and shouting.
She sprayed a burst of gunfire along the corridor at chest height.
Howls of pain followed.
The running stopped.
Return gunfire zipped past them along the corridor.
‘Now see what you’ve done,’ Xena said.
‘Bastards,’ she shouted, and fired another burst up the corridor.
More was returned.
She sat down next to Xena, put the rucksack between her legs and took out her mobile from the front pocket. ‘You okay?’
‘Never better.’
‘Excellent. Okay, let’s ring Kowalski first and . . .’
‘What?’
‘No signal.’ She rummaged in the rucksack and found her tablet. ‘Shit! No Wifi.’
‘Is it because we’re so far underground?’
‘Could be, but I wouldn’t be surprised if these bastards have jammed everything.’
‘Have you got a plan C?’
‘We go out in a blaze of glory.’
‘I’ve heard better plans.’
‘I’m open to suggestions.’
Xena pushed herself up. ‘Give me the torch.’
Scylla passed it to her.
Standing on the corner, Xena directed the light up the corridor.
A burst of gunfire was the response.
‘This is Detective Inspector Xena Blake from Hoddesdon Police Station – drop your weapons and surrender.’
A burst of laughter came back.
‘Who are you?’ Xena shouted.
‘We’re the police. You drop your weapons and surrender.’
‘I’d like to speak to DCI Kowalski from Hoddesdon.’
‘I’m sure something can be arranged once you give up your weapons and step into the corridor.’
Scylla hit her on the leg. ‘You go out there, they’ll kill you.’
‘Who are you? What’s your rank and name?’ Xena called.
Laughter trickled down the corridor.
Xena sat back down. ‘They’re here to kill us, aren’t they?’
‘Like Chloe, we know too much.’
‘I don’t know anything. Maybe I should arrest you and hand you over to them.’
‘You think they’ll let you walk out of here?’
‘So, what did Chloe overhear?’
‘Harradine was driving under the influence on December 23, 2009. He knocked over and killed a thirteen year-old girl called Ellie Farrington, and then fled the scene of the accident. The first thing he did was call Commander Bruce Artell . . .’
‘. . . Who was in charge of SO1 at the time, but is now Assistant Commissioner of the Specialist Operations Directorate, which includes SO1?’
Scylla shrugged. ‘You’d know better than me. Anyway, Artell covered it up. A witness had an unfortunate accident, a report went missing and so on. Needless to say, the police never caught the hit-and-run driver.’
‘Fucking hell! And Chloe overheard them plotting this in the library?’
‘Exactly.’
‘But it was four years ago. If Artell disposed of all the evidence what are they panicking about now? It’s Chloe’s word against theirs.’
Scylla pulled a grainy black and white photograph from a speed camera dated December 23, 2009, and a witness statement by someone called Peter Woodhouse out of her rucksack and passed them to Xena. ‘Chloe had them.’
‘And Stick?’
‘He was sent to kill Chloe and her daughter, Poppy. Instead, he hid them and gave Chloe the evidence as insurance.’
‘Yeah, Stick would never have done something like that. And the fucking bastard never told me.’
‘He wasn’t going to tell anybody.’
‘Which was why he resigned from Special Ops?’
‘I expect so.’
‘And if it hadn’t been for Pine and the other three being murdered, we would never have found out.’
‘No.’
‘So, these bastards from SO1 killed the four coppers . . . ?’
‘No.’
‘No? Well, who the fuck did then?’
‘I haven’t worked that one out yet.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kowalski reached for the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s Dr de Castella from Foxglove Ward.’
He swung his legs out of bed and sat up. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Your wife Jerry is awake.’
He began to cry. ’Is she . . .’
‘Yes, she’s fine. She’s been asking for you.’
‘Tell her I’m on my way.’ He glanced at the clock. It was quarter past three.
‘We’re having some difficulties here at the moment. The power has gone off, and the back-up generator hasn’t taken over.’
‘Okay, thanks for letting me know, Doctor. I’ll bring a torch with me.’
He put the phone down.
There was a soft knock at the door and Matilda came in. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Jerry’s awake.’
‘Is she . . . ?’
‘Yes.’
Matilda burst into tears. ‘Thank God.’
Ray hugged her.
‘I’m going to see her. Are you all right staying here?’
‘Of course. You go to her.’
She left him to get dressed.
When he reached the kitchen, Matilda had made him a coffee.
‘Give her our love.’
‘You can give her your own love tomorrow.’
He took a swallow of coffee and left.
Jerry was all right – it hadn’t sunk in yet.
Was she really all right? Was she still his Jerry? Or, had she become someone else? She’d need time, of course. The important thing was that she’d come back to him.
Tears ran down his face.
Maybe there was something wrong with him – he’d never leaked so much.
***
‘You’re not very good, are you?’ Xena said.
‘That’s rich coming from you.’
‘Well, I’m paying you to
find out . . .’
‘You’re not paying me anything, and I work for Charlie Baxter.’
‘Yeah well. Charlie Baxter works for me.’
‘No he doesn’t, he’s Gilbert’s solicitor.’
‘Gilbert works for me.’
‘That’s not true either. In fact, I think you’re just a baglady who wandered in off the street.’
‘I feel like it as well.’
‘I’ve had a thought about Stick . . .’
‘Why do you call him Stick?’
‘Have you met him?’
‘No.’
‘He has a body like a stick insect.’
‘Okay.’
‘If it’s not the SO1 people who murdered the Shrub End four and framed Stick for it, then it must be someone else.’
Scylla snorted with laughter. ‘That’s brilliant. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘I haven’t finished yet.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, I think you’ve got the answer right there.’
‘Have you been through his cases?’
‘That was my next job.’
‘Fucking great. The way things are going, your next job will be hacking into Lucifer’s hard drive.’
‘Well, at least I’ll have company. And by the way, I’m not called Scylla anymore.’
‘You change your name like a whore changes position. What’s your real name?’
‘Yeah, like I’m gonna tell a cop. You can call me Bronwyn from now on.’
‘You don’t sound Welsh.’
‘That’s because I’m not.’
A burst of gunfire sizzled along the corridor.
‘We can’t stay here.’
‘Our options are limited,’ Scylla said, rummaging in the rucksack and pulling out the Glock, which she passed to Xena. ‘Be careful – it’s loaded.’
Xena dropped the magazine out, popped the round from the chamber, stripped the weapon down and then reassembled it.’
‘You’ve played with one before?’
‘A couple of times.’
Scylla returned a burst of gunfire, and then they began walking along the left-hand corridor.
‘We don’t have much time,’ Xena said.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because they don’t have much time. They need to finish what they came here to do, and get out before first light. Sooner or later, someone is going to switch the lights back on . . .’
‘And the Wifi?’
‘Exactly. In the dark and the confusion they can explain things away, but in the cold light of day . . .’
There was a blinding flash and an ear-splitting bang behind them.
‘Shit,’ Xena said. ‘That was a fucking stun grenade. They won’t be far behind.’
Scylla grabbed Xena’s arm. ‘Let’s get moving then.’
‘I’m not really dressed for this, you know.’
‘Are you wearing knickers?’
‘I hardly think that’s fucking relevant.’
***
Dr de Castello was right – the hospital was shrouded in darkness. He was surprised that no one had fixed the problem yet, and even more surprised that only the hospital was affected. Beyond the perimeter the streetlights, traffic lights and pelican crossing were still working.
He parked his car. The car park was eerie without lights. He took the high-powered torch from the boot and navigated his way to the hospital main entrance.
There were a few torch lights bouncing about the reception. He stood still and moved the beam slowly around the large space to get his bearings. The lifts were obviously out of action, so he headed towards the stairs.
Inside the stairwell, he was just about to head up to Foxglove Ward when he spotted two armed police officers on the lower stairs.
‘Is something going on?’ he asked.
‘Nothing you need to worry about, Sir.’
He took out his warrant card and thrust it at them. ‘DCI Kowalski from Hoddesdon Police Station. Do you need any help?’
The two officers glanced sideways at each other and came to attention. ‘No, we’re fine, Sir.’
‘What’s going on?’
‘We have two suspects trapped in the basement.’
He hadn’t heard anything on the news during the journey here. There were no messages on his phone from the Chief Constable about armed officers conducting an operation in the hospital. ‘Suspects? What are they suspected of?’
‘I’m sorry, Sir. I can’t give you any more information.’
‘Who’s the senior officer in charge?’
‘I’ll ask him to come up and speak to you, Sir,’ one of the two officers said. He moved further down the stairs and spoke into his radio. When he came back up he said, ‘The Inspector asked if you’d go down and speak to him, Sir.’
It must have been a combination of the dark and his tiredness that had made him so slow on the uptake. It came to him then that something wasn’t quite right. The officers had no collar numbers showing, and they were carrying Uzi’s instead of the official issue Heckler & Koch MP5SF carbines. ‘I’ve come to see my wife, not get involved in a police operation.’ He began to edge back up the stairs. ‘You carry on. If you’re still here on my way out, I might . . .’
The police officers swung their weapons towards him, and the one who had spoken into the radio said, ‘I’m sorry, Sir, I can’t let you leave.’
‘You’d better point that weapon somewhere else, Constable . . .’
The second officer came up the stairs, took up a position behind him and prodded him in the back with the muzzle of his Uzi. ‘Start walking down, Sir.’
His full reasoning powers had returned, and he knew that if these two police officers – if that’s what they were – were willing to point a weapon at a DCI, then he was already a walking dead man. The one thing he had on his side was surprise. They wouldn’t expect him to fight. But that’s what he had to do. He knew that if he went into the basement, he wasn’t going to come out alive.
He pretended to stumble, dropped the torch, turned, grabbed the barrel of the Uzi and pulled.
The officer lost his footing, squeezed the trigger and a spray of bullets ripped through the paintwork in the stairwell walls and ceiling, and the second officer ahead of them.
The sound was deafening in the confined space.
Both officers tumbled down the stairs and landed in a heap at the bottom.
He hurried after them, checked each man’s pulse, but they were both dead – the second man must have broken his neck in the fall. His torch was still working. He positioned it on one of the stairs and stripped the corpses of their weapons, radios, night goggles, spare magazines . . . As he did so, he realised there was enough equipment to kit out small army. What the hell was going on? He dragged the bodies under the stairs, checked their pockets for identification, but found nothing. Who were these men? He found it hard to believe that they were police officers.
One of the radios crackled. ‘Jennings,’ a voice said. ‘Is everything okay?’
He pressed the button, muffled his voice and replied, ‘On our way.’
‘Get a move on, we’re going to rush them’
‘Okay.’
Rush who? He’d stumbled into something, but what? He took out his mobile – no signal.
There was no way he was going into the basement without back-up. He picked up the torch and hurried up the stairs, through the swing doors and across the marble floor to the reception desk.
‘Who’s in charge?’ he said.
‘I am,’ a woman said.
He showed her his warrant card. ‘DCI Kowalski from Hoddesdon Police Station. There’s something going on in the basement . . .’ He wondered about evacuating everybody, but it would probably cause more harm than good. ‘Are the phones working?’
‘They were, but they don’t seem to be anymore.’
‘I need someone I can trust.’
‘Well, you can trust me.’
He unlocked his pho
ne and found the Chief Constable’s home number in the phonebook. ‘You’ll have to go out of the hospital, beyond the perimeter until you get a signal, and then phone the Chief Constable.’
‘The Chief Constable?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of Essex?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh!’
‘Say to him: Kowalski needs an armed response team at the hospital now.’
‘An armed response team?’
‘Yes. There are men in the basement with guns.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes - really. Tell him I’m going in, but I need back-up.’
‘Into the basement?’
‘Yes. Can you do that?’
‘I think so.’
‘What’s the message?’
She repeated what he’d told her.
‘What’s your name?’
‘Julie Cowell.’
He squeezed her hand and pressed his mobile phone into her palm like a door-to-door salesman. ‘This is important, Julie. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I understand.’ She left the safety of the reception desk and hurried out of the main door.
He wanted to go up to Foxglove Ward and see Jerry more than anything in the world, but he knew he couldn’t walk away from whatever was happening in the basement.
Who were these men? Were they terrorists? Why were they here in the hospital? One of the men had said “two suspects” – what did that mean?
The only way he was going to get any answers was if he went down into the basement and found out for himself.
He walked across the reception and headed back down the stairs.
***
‘Are you okay?’
Xena grunted. ‘You should have taken up nursing.’
‘Just making sure you’re not going to die on me.’
‘If I stop, I’ll die anyway.’
‘They won’t rape someone as ugly as you, but they might torture you before they kill you to see what you know.’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
‘Shit!’ Scylla said.
‘What?’
‘Dead end.’
‘You’re joking?’
‘Of course I am . . . not.’
They backtracked a short distance and found a locked door.
Xena aimed the Glock at the lock.
‘Wait,’ Scylla said, pointing the Uzi back up the corridor. ‘Now.’