No Refuge

by Greg Elswood

  The guard glared at Michael, as if challenging him to continue, but when it was clear that Michael wasn’t going to venture any further information, he stepped forward.

  ‘I’m Bill,’ he said, then turned to his colleagues. ‘I’ll be back in a minute. Keep an eye out.’

  Bill walked a few paces and stopped by the wall of the office block. ‘OK, what do you want?’

  ‘I understand you are responsible for security at Broadgate,’ Michael said, pandering to Bill’s ego. ‘I was therefore wondering if you could help me with a project my employer is planning?’

  ‘What sort of project?’

  ‘Well, we wanted to give something to the commuters during the strikes, by providing them with a snack for breakfast as they come off their trains. It looks like they’re queuing for hours for buses and cabs.’

  ‘Yeah, my heart bleeds for them,’ Bill replied. ‘But what has that got to do with me?’

  ‘We’d be in Broadgate and Liverpool Street, so wouldn’t we need your permission to set up a stall handing out the snacks?’

  ‘I don’t give the permission. That’s handled by the estate office over in the corner. If you book a date with them, you’ll be put on the list and I will then tick your name off before you come on site.’

  ‘Ah, well, that’s our problem, you see. The next strike is tomorrow, so we don’t have enough time to go through all that paperwork to book a slot. I was therefore thinking that, if you knew we were coming, you could let us in without all that fuss.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that. If you’re not on the list and my boss finds out I let you in, my neck will be on the line. I’m not risking that for you, just because you feel sorry for people during the strikes.’

  Michael had anticipated this objection and had rehearsed his response.

  ‘Bill, I understand what you’re saying, but perhaps I didn’t explain myself properly. Ordinarily we would have gone through your usual process, and it’s only because we have limited time that we decided to come straight to you, as we’d heard you were able to get things done.’

  Michael was conscious he was laying it on thick, but Bill was still listening. He probably knew what was coming and Michael didn’t intend to disappoint him, much as it pained him to suck up to this pathetic guard.

  ‘We want to make a business offer to you, businessman to businessman, if you know what I mean. We will, of course, pay you for your services and, if you wish to share it with your colleagues, that’s entirely up to you.’ Michael nodded towards Bill’s two stooges.

  ‘I’m not sure about this, it’s not how we do things around here.’ It was clear to Michael that Bill had taken the bait and it would just come down to price. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘Bill, we don’t have time for that. If we can’t do it tomorrow morning, then I may as well book another date for the next strike day through your office. And then, of course, this opportunity for you will go away.’

  ‘OK, let me think for a minute.’ Bill fell silent and Michael stepped back, giving him time and space to think and also dropping an unsubtle hint that he was prepared to walk away.

  ‘A monkey, that’s what it will cost you,’ Bill said, after a few seconds’ deliberation.

  ‘What? How much is that, a hundred pounds?’

  ‘No, and I’m not doing it for that, no way. This is a big risk and I won’t do it for less than a monkey. That’s five hundred to you.’

  ‘You’re not serious,’ Michael replied, although he knew that he was. ‘I was thinking of nearer two hundred.’

  He thought Bill was being greedy and he had been expecting a lower demand. However, if it ensured the mission succeeded, it was a small price to pay.

  ‘Five hundred. Take it or leave it, and I’ll want it all up front today.’

  ‘OK, OK, five hundred it is. But I’ll only pay half today, and you’ll get the other half in the morning when you let us in. I’m taking a risk too, and that way I know you’ll be here tomorrow when we arrive.’

  Bill pretended to think about it before nodding. Michael turned away, reached into his jacket and counted out five fifties. The last thing he needed was for Bill to see how much money he was carrying, as he’d no doubt want to renegotiate. Bill stepped forward and Michael handed him the notes, out of sight of Bill’s colleagues.

  ‘We’ll be at the entrance to Liverpool Street over there,’ Michael said, pointing, ‘by that tall, rusting girder thing, at about seven o’clock tomorrow morning. I will be with four or five other people, who will be helping to hand out the snacks. We will be taking them into the station, understood?’

  Bill nodded his agreement and turned away.

  It was only when Michael watched him go, that it occurred to him that Bill hadn’t asked anything about the product. Just as well, he thought with relief. Whilst Bill’s lack of curiosity struck him as odd, he realised that he wouldn’t have been able to answer much about it. He didn’t yet know exactly what they were giving away, what it would be called or even what the promotion would say. He’d only know all that once the delivery came tonight. Michael wasn’t as prepared as he thought, and he prayed that his luck would last for another day.

  Only one more day. The thought made him smile.

  ***

  Liverpool Street station was barely recognisable from the morning’s news broadcast. No long queues in the walkways, no jostling throng in front of the London Underground ticket hall and no pop-up stalls offering promotional snacks to anxious commuters.

  Brandon stood at the railing on a walkway directly above the centre of the concourse, below the huge, double-sided departure board suspended from the station’s Victorian roof. He looked towards the Broadgate exit, where hundreds of commuters had queued for buses earlier, but where only a dozen or so people now waited. Below him, a couple of teachers shepherded a party of schoolchildren towards the escalators, and in front of them a few people mingled in front of the cash machines. This would be the perfect spot to launch Proximity. From here, Brandon would be able to check that everything was working, and there were several escape routes in case anything went wrong.

  But why should it? Brandon closed his eyes and he could almost feel the touch of the button that would activate his program, and his stomach fluttered at the vision of his plan coming to life.

  Brandon knew the layout of the station well, but he walked around every part of it, checking that none of the exits were blocked or temporarily closed. He was sure that no one would be suspicious of him tomorrow, but it was best to be prepared. He paid particular attention to the position of the CCTV cameras and there were even more than he had expected. Perhaps he should adopt a disguise, just to be safe. In the event that Liverpool Street was identified by security services as the initial source of the cyber-attack, he wouldn’t want his image to be scrutinised in their recordings, picked to bits and digitally enhanced, and then broadcast in news reports. It seemed unlikely that he would be traced, but although he was confident in his technical ability to hide his tracks and make himself invisible to the online community, his physical presence was another thing entirely. He had always hated being the centre of attention and it seemed that he’d spent his whole life shunning the limelight, and he hoped that his practice would be rewarded when he needed it most.

  Brandon left the station by the Bishopsgate entrance and walked towards Spitalfields Market, where he would grab something from one of the fast food stalls. On his way out, he didn’t notice the two men who stood on the raised walkway, deep in conversation as they leaned on the railing and looked down at the concourse.

  Like Brandon, Paddy and Michael were considering emergency exits, although they looked for places where panic-stricken commuters would struggle to get away from the chaos, not escape routes for themselves. They had no intention of being anywhere near this cavernous terminal during the carnage.

  ‘One of our carts should be placed there,’ Michael said, and he pointed at an open space next to one of
the staircases that ran from the concourse to the raised walkway. ‘I reckon it will catch anyone running away from the first explosion. Yes, that’s a perfect site for the second blast. What’s more, it’s also going to be surrounded by people coming off those platforms there, who will be grabbing their free snack.’

  Paddy followed Michael’s hand and visualised the commuters coming off their trains and walking straight into the blast zone. He was right, there really was nowhere else they could go from that side of the station.

  ‘And the first cart, of course, should be this end,’ Michael continued. He walked towards the Broadgate end of the concourse, where the main entrance to the Underground, the front entrance to the station, its steps and escalators up to street level and the bus station, all converged. It would be teeming with people, as it had been that morning.

  ‘This is where the carts will come in, past those shops there, and it’s where most of the displays and promotions are put, so it won’t look out of place. No one will suspect a thing.’ Michael stopped at the railing beneath the departure board. ‘When this one goes off, it will catch people coming off the platforms this end and anyone queuing for buses or waiting by the Underground. What do you think?’

  Paddy nodded. ‘Yes, I reckon you’re right. It will block the escalators and stairs, and probably the exit into Broadgate. Anyone who isn’t caught in it will naturally run that way.’ Paddy pointed back to where they had agreed the second cart would be situated.

  ‘My God, Paddy, it couldn’t be better, could it?’ The excitement in Michael’s voice was palpable, and Paddy saw a look in his eyes that made even a man of murder like himself shudder.

  ‘Yeah, it’s looking good. But let’s stay calm and think everything through. We haven’t been downstairs yet, and who knows what we’ll find? We need to check the signal strength down there too, although I don’t imagine that will be an issue.’

  The two men wandered down to the station concourse. The chosen sites for their deadly carts seemed even better close-up and they could think of no reason to change their plans. They left by the station’s side entrance towards Exchange Square, satisfied with their target’s potential to generate maximum bloodshed. Michael glanced into the small shops lining the passage and wondered which of these shop assistants and customers would die in the morning. All of them, he hoped.

  ‘Until tomorrow,’ he said under his breath. ‘Strike day.’

  15

  He had forgotten how good this felt. He bounced along the pavement in a way he hadn’t done for years; energised, full of purpose and battle-ready. At last, after months of waiting for a mission, here it was, just like the old times again.

  But this time it was even better, as he was driving the operation, the baton of leadership having clearly passed from the older man, Paddy, to himself. He didn’t have direct contact with the Brethren executive yet, but surely it was only a matter of time. The heir-apparent, he had staked his claim. Michael looked at Paddy, who dragged his feet as if tormented by every step, each one bringing him closer to his grave. Paddy was a fighter, but it was clear that his illness was winning the battle and he was enduring his role, not enjoying it. He just had to survive the next twenty-four hours and then he will have fulfilled his final mission, and Michael assumed he would then quickly give in to life’s only certainty. Leaving Michael with the spoils.

  ‘Hey Paddy, you look worn out. Perhaps you should get some rest this afternoon. It’s going to be a long night.’

  Paddy’s bloodshot eyes were barely visible in his sunken eye sockets. Since leaving Liverpool Street he had suddenly become overwhelmed with exhaustion, and he could hardly keep pace with Michael. Whether it was the thought of the job or the strain of yesterday’s physical exertion catching up with him, he didn’t know, but it was clear he’d need time to recharge before tomorrow.

  He nodded at Michael. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. I could do with a kip.’

  ‘Great. I’m going to the pub now to get James on side, so why don’t you head back to the lock-up? I said to Maria to come over mid-afternoon, so you can tell her the plan and then crash out.’

  ‘OK, I’ll wait for her and tell her to be back in the morning. We agreed six o’clock, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. After the pub, I’ll go back to the flat so I’m there when Jenny and Orla get home, and then I’ll be back to Rivington Street for the delivery and night shift. I’ll be too wired to sleep until this is all over, and anyway, there will be plenty of time for that afterwards.’

  Michael stopped walking to let Paddy catch his breath. ‘Now go and get some sleep. You need it. I’ll see you later.’

  They parted ways. At Luke Street, Michael glanced towards the Refuge and wondered what Maria was doing. He hoped she was making the most of her last day alive. He shrugged and put it out of his mind.

  It was nearing the end of lunchtime service and James was collecting glasses at one of the tables when Michael walked in.

  ‘Hello Michael, a bit late for you today isn’t it?’ He wiped the table and carried the glasses back to the bar. ‘The usual?’

  ‘Thanks, yes, I’ve time for a swift one. And have one for yourself.’

  ‘Now I am worried about you, that’s two days running.’

  ‘Just being friendly,’ Michael said, ‘and in fact that’s why I popped in here. It was you I wanted to see.’

  ‘Really?’ James looked at Michael and raised an eyebrow. ‘You buy me drinks then say you’ve come to see me. Sorry, Michael, you’re a nice enough fella, but you’re not my type!’

  Both men laughed. James set a Guinness on the bar and waited for Michael to take a swallow before asking him what he wanted to see him about.

  ‘You may remember yesterday morning, I said I was meeting an old friend of mine who wanted help with a new business venture.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ James took a sip of his ale. ‘What’s he up to then?’

  ‘Well, it’s not what I thought,’ Michael said. ‘He’s involved in the launch of a new breakfast product. I’ve not seen it yet, as it’s all hush-hush at the moment. The main publicity and advertising will be next week, but he’s got the job of promoting it this week, starting tomorrow.’

  ‘OK, but I don’t follow, what does this have to do with me?’

  ‘I was coming to that. For tomorrow’s promotion, we are handing out free samples at Liverpool Street in the morning, trying to catch the commuters on their way to work. But he’s had someone drop out last minute. He’s asked me if I know anyone who could get to Liverpool Street before seven o’clock and then help to hand them out for a couple of hours. Are you interested? You mentioned yesterday that you could do with the money.’

  James puffed out his cheeks. ‘Yeah, you could say that again.’

  ‘What time do you start work here? Fancy two hours of easy work? As it’s last minute, you’ll get a good rate.’

  ‘I usually get here at about half-nine to help clear up after breakfast before my main shift. Sounds like I could do your job before then. What did you say, a couple of hours starting at seven?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. But if you could get there a few minutes earlier to help unload the gear, that would help thanks. It will be all over by nine, don’t worry about that.’

  James was keen to help out and the two men finalised the arrangements for the morning. Michael drained the rest of his pint, satisfied with his work, and before leaving the pub he typed a brief message to Paddy:

  Two down, two to go

  But Michael wasn’t kidding himself. He knew he’d done the easier half. Enlisting Jenny and Orla to his band of killers might prove much trickier.

  ***

  Paddy jerked awake when Michael’s message pinged on his phone. He sat forward in his chair, rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and yawned. Since getting back from Liverpool Street he had been dozing inside the lock-up, with the door ajar, waiting for Maria. He hoped she’d turn up soon, so that he could get a g
ood sleep undisturbed, ahead of the delivery that evening. It was going to be a long night.

  He smiled at Michael’s message and lit a cigarette. The smoke caught in his throat and scorched his worn-out lungs, but Paddy was beyond caring. He deleted the message and contemplated how this operation was now wholly within Michael’s control. It was clear that he had usurped Paddy as team leader and he was revelling in his role. Not that Paddy minded, it was the right time for that. Michael was ambitious, he wanted the credit for this job and, having learned his murderous trade from Paddy and others in Ireland, he was now an increasingly zealous member of the Brethren. Donovan had also been impressed by Michael’s thinking, when Paddy had called to agree the new plan, so he was definitely on the way up.

  But Michael wasn’t yet the finished article. Paddy harboured a few doubts about his professionalism and he was still impetuous, as evidenced by his constant womanising and hasty inclusion of Maria in this operation. Michael was also bloodthirsty, his appetite for slaughter greater than anyone else Paddy knew, and he had a deep-seated ruthlessness, an ice-cold detachment that enabled him to kill without regret. But would it be his undoing if he allowed his lust for death and destruction to compromise his judgement? Time would tell.

  Paddy stubbed out his cigarette underfoot and settled back in his chair. Within seconds his head lolled back, open-mouthed, and his laboured wheezing was the only sound in the lock-up.

  ‘Hello, Martin, Peter, are you there?’

  Paddy’s head lurched forward again and he gripped the arms of the seat. But the moment he saw Maria in the doorway, he let out a long, rasping breath and wiped the drool away from the side of his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Maria peered round the door and stepped over the threshold. ‘Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you. Is Martin here?’