by James Arklie
‘Finchley High Road and Pilgrimage Street.’
Ollie turned left and started running hard for London Bridge. Pilgrimage Street was only a few streets back from the Guy’s Hospital complex. Saran was a doctor at Guy’s.
An open main road was not good, sirens were too loud in her ears. She broke across the traffic, causing horns to start up, went straight into the gloom of Angel Lane. Buildings high on either side blocked out the light.
Small blinked. ‘Where’s she gone?’
Andy was on the phone to the CCTV centre. Jules waved a piece of paper at him. He glanced down at it and frowned.
‘Boss, that DNA on the yellow dress? It belongs to this Saran Sherry James.’
Soul was still trying to persuade her. ‘Small, listen to me. I got thrown out of my room with Amal. That was orchestrated by Marston. He was working with the terrorists and we know he knew Jo.’
Ollie reached the end of the lane, paused for breath at the riverside, then turned left and started running along Hanseatic Walk towards London Bridge. People sat eating sandwiches on stone benches in the shade of the plane trees. In the distance the Shard pointed to the blue sky.
Andy said, ‘He met Saran as well.’
Small regarded him through tired eyes. ‘Remember they exchanged something. We have CCTV.’
‘That’s the USB Marston gave me to steal the information from George. As soon as that happened George had to disappear. Cover blown.’
Ollie was out of breath. She slowed to a walk. As soon she stepped out onto London Bridge CCTV would be on her again. She would need to get across fast.
‘Where are you, Soul? Where are you going?’
Ollie reached London Bridge, the traffic was flowing freely. She ran through the underpass to the opposite side, waited on the steps then sprang forward at an available black cab.
‘Pilgrimage Street.’
Small picked up on it. Grabbed her jacket, shouted to Andy to follow, knowing Soul had realised what they hadn’t. Saran worked at Guy’s. She owned a house nearby. It was the logical place to hold Lily and Alesha.
The traffic snarled and ground to a halt around Ollie as the taxi exited the bridge and got down to Borough High Street. It didn’t matter to Ollie, Small knew where she was going, but Ollie wanted to be there first. She stopped the cab opposite Little Dorrit Park and sprinted for a green lane cut through that brought her out on Tabard Street.
There she snatched a pushbike from outside a shop and pedalled furiously for the last eight hundred metres to Pilgrimage Street.
She threw the bike to the ground outside 35A, sweat running from her forehead, the yellow dress clinging to her back. She could hear sirens on the streets and the chatter of an approaching helicopter in the sky above her.
Her heart pounded life into her body, her lungs swelled in her chest, filling her with hope and fear. Her brain screamed out it’s panic.
Please God, let me be right.
* * *
Small and Mann were careering across London Bridge. All around them tactical units were streaming across London, smothering the area. A central team were pulling the cords that tightened the net.
Andy took a call. Jules was brief. ‘Background you asked for on Marston confirms what we already knew. Biochemist and microbiologist. Research lab at Guy’s.’
Small wasn’t happy. It was all coming together, but it was all wrong. She screamed into her mobile.
‘Soul. Are you there? What’s happening?’
She took out the front wing of a car but hammered on. ‘Are we armed?’
‘In the boot, Boss, but tactical will….’
‘Handgun each.’ She was bypassing getting authorisation, because this was different. This was Soul.
Ollie tested the front door with a push. It didn’t move. She eased round to the back of the house, where a patio door stood open and a half-finished mug of tea was on a table. From the front of the house she heard a car screech to a halt. She guessed that was Small.
Ollie prayed that somewhere inside were Lily and her mother. She tried to picture the background of the room she’d seen in the video. Bare brick walls. Ceiling lights. No ornaments. A cellar? No, there was a window covered by a dark curtain.
She moved to step through the door when she heard the movement behind her and turned. Small faced her, gun raised and held firmly in two hands.
‘It’s over, Soul. On the deck. Spread your…’
‘You can come inside with me and discover the truth, or shoot an unarmed, coloured female in the back and deal with the consequences.’
Ollie turned and walked into what seemed to be a lounge. One settee and nothing else; no TV, tables, decorations. Not lived in. Hope was fading inside her like dusk over a mountain. Perhaps this wasn’t the place. She eased across to the door on the far side, paused and turned. Small was behind her, gun lowered. She seemed ready to shoot Ollie or anyone else.
Ollie slipped into the hallway, looking for a way down to a basement. Couldn’t see one. A voice called out to her. Tiny and afraid. Broken by tears. Lily.
‘Mum.’
Ollie span to the room on her right, the front room of the house. Small followed her into the room and they were confronted with Saran and on the floor in front of her, Lily and her mother. Ollie ran to them both, dropping to her knees so that she could put an arm around each of them.
Saran spoke to Small. ‘Gun.’ Small tossed it to a soft chair. ‘And no one comes in. Tell them.’
‘Andy. We’ve found them. And Saran Sherry. All alive. Keep everyone outside.’ They could all hear the cars and commotion building outside like a storm through trees.
‘This is over, Saran. There’s an army assembling.’
Small’s mobile pinged, she read the message and held it out to Ollie. Jules. There was a DNA match of Saran’s son, Jacob, to Emmanuel. Ollie nodded as more light illuminated the darkness. Ollie noticed the mobile was on an open line.
She stood, face to face with her old friend, putting herself in front of Lily and her mother. Preparing to tell Saran that Sammy Cheong had not been injected. Getting herself ready to fight the consequences.
Saran’s mobile sang the first few bars of ‘War’, Edwin Starr. Saran smiled.
‘Love a bit of Motown, hey, Ollie.’
She glanced at the screen, smiled. Smug and triumphant. She held it out for Ollie to read and said, ‘Didn’t think you had it in you, Sweetie. Must be that maternal instinct to protect.’
Ollie frowned at the screen, it was from Jo. Small moved in and read, ‘We got a reading. She did it. He’s infected.’
Small looked at Ollie with horror. ‘I thought you….’
Ollie roughly pulled her back to one side to silence the comment, trying to make sense of what she’d just read. George? Surely not. He had the virus. But he couldn’t have done it. Wouldn’t have done it.
Ollie spotted an opportunity. ‘That means you can give them the injection and piss off outside to be shot. Tell your mother to release the lock on that box.’
Saran just smiled. ‘Not that easy. This was always plan B, in case you didn’t go through with it. But now I’m thinking that I have no way out of here so why not go out with a grand statement of belief in the cause. Send a message to the Western World as well. A little self-indulgent martyrdom.’
Ollie felt Small stir beside her. Saran had just told them she was going to attack. That would change what they were thinking outside. Small became conversational, taking Saran’s focus from what she’d just said. Trying to create time.
‘I know that Jacob is your son and the father is Emmanuel Soul.
Saran shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter now.’
‘Did you ever tell Oleander that you’re her half-sister?’ Beside her Small heard Ollie gasp and went on.
‘Billy Jones is the father so now I’m guessing the mother is Joanna Sherry. Billy playing away.’
Ollie looked down at her mother, her eyes shifted away. Like those of a dog t
hat’s been scolded.
Small went on, relentless, triumphant in finally understanding.
‘And I know that Oleander here is a multiple killer so is this some kind of partnership formed as children? The yellow dress gang?’
Saran was laughing. ‘See, Sweetie, told you. Killer.’
Ollie shook her head, ‘Not me. You.’
She was looking at her mother who was holding Lily tightly. Her mother’s face looked pained. There was still something wrong.
Ollie dug into the shell of a winkle, wriggled the pin around, trying to extricate the information. She looked again into her mother’s eyes. They were large, round, watery and guilty. The winkle came free.
There was always something odd about the image she recollected of Billy’s murder. He was gripping a throat that had been brutally sliced across. There was no way Saran could have done that at ten years old.
Tears sprang into Ollie’s eyes, she glanced at Lily. This couldn’t be said here.
‘Mum?’
‘Sorry, love.’ She squeezed Lily. ‘He was a brutal man and a cheat.’
Saran interrupted. ‘And as part of all this I get my revenge on the woman who killed my father. How clever am I?’
But Ollie still held her shock and focus on her mother. She wiped away a tear. ‘And Emmanuel?’
‘You’ve just heard it. One woman too many, this one under-age.’
Ollie glanced at Saran’s expressionless face. It takes two, she thought. And this one is particularly manipulative.
Ollie was trying to come to terms with her mother killing so casually and she couldn’t. Is that how it is when you’re told that someone you love, someone you may have shared a bed with, someone who has raised you, is a murderer? The numbness that comes with the shock of discovery.
This is why she kept telling me to leave it alone, thought Ollie.
But there was still one more to go. ‘Stephan?’
Alesha let go of Lily who ran to Ollie. She scooped her up in her arms.
‘He was the best thing that happened to you, but he started asking questions. Wanted to clear that cloud of suspicion around you. He got the answers, found out about me. I didn’t want to destroy the happiness we’d found, lose Lily, so…’
Saran beamed a crazy smile. ‘My Mum helped clean up the mess. She was good like that. Always round to clean up my messes. Bodies here, a bloody mess there.’
Ollie glanced at Small who still had her mobile in her hand. Small walked across to Alesha, took the case from her, then spoke.
‘You can release the lock now.’
She glanced at Ollie’s puzzled expression, then at Saran whose body had turned rigid. Both were wondering how she could be talking to Jo.
In Small’s hand the lock clicked and the lid popped up a fraction. She lifted the lid, stared inside. Turned her face to a blank mask.
She said to Saran. ‘Tell me about Mike Marston.’
‘Idiot read what was on the USB. I had my doubts about him. He couldn’t come to terms with what we were doing. Kept trying to persuade me not to do it. So, end of…’
‘Mark Anderson?’
‘Killed the WPC. I had him in my control. But he couldn’t stop watching it on TV. The guilt was eating him up. Another weak male. Great opportunity to increase suspicion on Ollie. I thought the back seat and parking space was genius.’
Small obviously didn’t. It showed in her face. ‘Amal?’
‘That was simply to plant the damning evidence and throw Ollie into our hands. The final piece of manipulation. After that she was on the run and ours.’
Ollie sensed there were now other people in the house. Close. Small started talking in a way that gave away information. ‘It’s just you now, Saran. You’re not armed. No way out.’
‘Of course, I’m armed. I’m a lethal weapon.’
Ollie eased Lily to the floor and behind her. From there Lily could run from the room. Ollie could stop Saran if she tried to chase her. ‘You’ve injected yourself as well?’
‘As I said, martyrdom.’
‘This is madness. All of this just to get me to give a virus to a Chinaman. Why didn’t you just get on a bloody plane to Beijing and spike someone’s drink?’
‘Because of who he is. We will be striking at the heart of the Communist Party Government. What a message. And because it’s the easiest way to smuggle a lethal weapon into another country.’
Small could see Ollie edging Lily to the door. She shook her head and held out the open box.
There was only one pre-loaded syringe.
Ollie stepped forward. Saran laughed. ‘I wouldn’t draw blood if I were you. Might catch something.’ She nodded at the box.
‘Do you like my parting gift? Who will you choose, Ollie? I’m betting on Lily. Why save the murdering old bird of a mother now?’
‘They’ll have more.’
‘More of what? They don’t know what they need.’
From somewhere outside a bell rang three times. Someone’s mobile, thought Ollie.
Alesha said. ‘Give it to Lily. I don’t want it.’
The bell rang twice. What is that, thought Ollie? She sensed tension grow in Small’s body and Small rocked forward onto her toes. Saran sensed it too and ripped off her jacket to reveal crudely wrapped packages taped to the front of her body. A trigger hung loose at her wrist, dangling from a wire.
The fear created by the horrible reality she was facing froze Ollie. Saran was going to blow herself up and launch the virus into the air like a million deadly missiles.
The bell rang once.
Small launched herself at the trigger.
An explosion went off in the room.
Blinding white light.
Choking smoke.
Ollie fell on Lily.
Heavy, protective.
A rush of movement. Powerful. Fast.
Strong hands lifting her up and away.
Her ears were singing, her eyes were blinded.
Lily was screaming.
She was screaming.
The world was vibrating.
Her body felt compressed, crushed.
She couldn’t breathe. Her head pounded.
Blood in her mouth, dripping from her nose.
And then there was light.
And she was sick.
And Lily was sick.
The world sang death in her ears.
Faces appeared and mouths moved, but there was no sound.
The world spun, suspended above her head.
White suits, big vans, white foam, white tents, huge tents.
Gas masks, oxygen cylinders, guns, no eyes, no humanity.
An obnoxious spray.
Burning her eyes.
Invading her mouth.
Drenching her.
An injection.
Nothing.
Epilogue
Rhangiputi Beach, North Island, New Zealand.
Twelve months later.
Ollie watched Lily messing about in the sea with a couple of school friends, then turned and looked towards the slipway a couple of hundred yards to her right. A tall man had paused there, chatting with a couple of fishermen about to launch a small boat. They all seemed to be admiring the engine.
She shielded her eyes to the sun, watching him turn towards her. He kicked off his sandals as he walked in the soft sand.
About time, she thought. Diana Ross, ‘Ain’t no mountain high enough,’ had arrived at her beach café three months ago. Then, ‘This old heart of mine,’ The Four Tops. But yesterday, Edwin Starr had arrived – ‘Twenty-five miles,’ and she knew it was real. He was for real.
Problem was, she didn’t know the man who was strolling along the beach and into her new life. Bearded, shorts, tee-shirt. Walking like a panther, slow, sexy. It was George, but George who?
Would she want him; would he want her?
And there were questions, unanswered questions that needed resolution.
He came round beside her, care
fully placed his rucksack in the sand and then sat beside her. They smiled at one another, then Ollie looked away to where Lily and friends were now trying to body surf in the waves.
‘My part of the deal was a new identity, new country and no one ever knows.’
‘I’m the only one who knows. I made sure of that.’
George produced two cartons of coffee from his rucksack. ‘Got them on the house from the SoulFood Café at the slip. I said they were for the owner.’
Ollie was still silent, still wondering whether to accept things the way they were, leave them as sleeping lies, or ask the hard questions.
George reached into his rucksack again. ‘Talking of souls.’ He handed Ollie a small urn. ‘Not all of Alesha, but I thought you may want something. If only to scatter. If I ever met you again, she asked me to tell you she loved you and was sorry.’
‘I didn’t want to leave her.’
‘You had no choice. Anyway, she refused to see you.’
‘What happened?’
‘She died six weeks after the rescue. Doctors put it down to the immense stress her body had to tolerate.’ He paused. ‘She stopped eating. Then she had a stroke. I think she just wanted to die.’
Ollie took the urn into the palm of her hand, weighing it, then she looked directly at him, willing honesty.
‘Was there ever a virus, George?’
He sipped his coffee, shook his head. ‘No.’
Beside him Ollie took a deep breath in and let it out as a long, slow release.
‘This beautiful beach is a great place for thinking, George. And nothing made sense. I was swept up in the madness of it all. The fear. The panic. The threats. I was terrified. But when I came here, when I paused, rewound, revisited…’
‘Ollie, I’m sorry…’
She held up a hand to stop the apology she didn’t need. ‘Mike Marston. He was the key that unlocked it all. Research scientist at Guy’s. Biochemist. Microbiologist. Viruses, bacteria. Saran was there as well, probably killing people with the trust placed in her. But she had bigger plans to kill millions. Decided she could only do it Mother Nature’s way, with a virus. So, she approached Mike Marston.’
George watched the fishing boat being launched and the men jumping aboard. He nodded. ‘She was a very callous and determined manipulator. First, she started an affair with Marston, then threatened to tell his wife, then demanded he produce the virus.’