“Extradition?” said Hooker sharply, although an American prison was almost more tempting than taking orders from Hyatt.
“It crossed my mind,” said Munro.
“Well, that’s not happening. If necessary, I’ll speak with President Lawlor myself,” said Rhys, offering Munro his hand. “Thanks for your help, Elisabeth, especially with Lottie’s passport.”
The American sighed. “As you wish, Damon. I’ll see Mister Hooker discharged as soon as possible.”
Hooker swung his legs out of bed. “No need, I’m discharging myself. I want to see Leah.”
“I’m sure you do,” said Rhys easily. “I have a copter waiting, if you need a ride back to London.”
Hooker grabbed his clothes, laundered but tattered, from a locker. “Thanks, Damon. I think I will.”
Thirty One
Hampshire
Wessex Secure Zone
The graveyard lay next to a medieval church, gargoyles peering from the eaves. Beatriz was christened here, nineteen years and a lifetime ago, church steps scattered with cherry blossom, Sara’s parents ignoring Hooker. His father was nowhere to be seen, his mother dead. Some of the guests wore uniforms, volunteers in the military and emergency services. The War was banished for the day, to celebrate the Hookers first-born.
He’d cradled Beatriz in his arms, a tiny thing, eyes fixed on his. She never cried, even at the font. Just gurgled happily, opening and closing her pudgy fingers. Hooker walked among the headstones, moss-furred granite, names carved deep. He knelt and traced the letters with a calloused finger.
SARA ALICE HOOKER
loving daughter and mother, taken tragically from us.
Aged 36 YRS.
BEATRIZ ELIZABETH HOOKER
sleeps forever with the angels.
Aged 8 YRS.
Hooker felt like an intruder in this place of ghosts and memories, of things unseen and unsaid. Pulling the mezuzah from inside his shirt, he kissed it before pressing it into the soil next to Beatriz’s headstone. Catching his breath, he placed a wreath on each grave. Peonies for Beatriz, a wreath of primrose and lilies for Sara.
The wind tore a petal from a flower, sending it to dance on the wind. “I’m sorry. You never told me they were dead,” said Leah, voice a near-whisper. She wore a dark trench coat, hair dyed crow-black.
Hooker’s fingers gripped Beatriz’s gravestone, cold in the shadows despite the sun. “I was in prison when they died. Beatriz had a respiratory illness. Y’know, from the bomb-dust. They wouldn’t release me for the funeral - said there weren’t enough guards.”
Leah held Hooker’s hand. “How did Sara die?”
“After Beatriz’s funeral she ran a hot bath, drank a bottle of vodka and cut her wrists.”
“I’m sorry, Rufus.”
“War. We all lost people.”
“My parents just disappeared. There’s no grave,” Leah replied. The wind made her good eye water. Under a patch was a newly-fitted optical implant, replacing the eye lost under torture. “Maybe it’s better that way?”
“Not for me,” Hooker replied, knees creaking as he stood. “I needed to see them at least once. I wanted them to be buried in London, but this is where Sara’s family came from. They didn’t care I wasn’t allowed in Wessex.”
“Are Sara’s parents dead?” asked Leah hopefully.
Hooker shook his head. “They sat out the war in Canada, but Sara wouldn’t go. They came from money, didn’t like their daughter marrying a black ex-squaddie from Woolwich.”
Leah smiled. A different smile from usual. Warm, even. “You never told me. Y’know, how you two met?”
Early autumn leaves swirled in the breeze, one perching on the gravestone for a moment. “After I left the army I worked on the knife-arch at a school. Sara was an English teacher, we caught each other’s eye I suppose. When the Emergencies started, I volunteered for the Taskforces. We decided to get married and have kids - it was a wartime thing.”
“My mum said that once, people were getting hitched all over the place. They thought the world would end.”
“I loved Sara. And I killed her, didn’t I? She was ashamed of me, Leah. She died of shame.”
Leah went on tiptoe, fingers snaking around the back of Hooker’s neck. She kissed him, lips cold. Her tongue, though, was warm. “The Emergencies killed her, Rufus. Not you.”
Rufus tried not to look surprised. “That sounds like an excuse.”
“The things you did, during the war. Where they that bad?”
Hooker shrugged. “It was called the Hate War for a reason. Gordy always used to say you can’t pick up a turd from the clean end.”
“Was that it? Making amends? You know, rescuing kids from the shops an’ all that.”
Hooker nodded. “When I got out of prison, me an’ some other veterans decided to close down the shops. Make the No-Zone less shit, seein’ as we couldn’t live anywhere else.” Hooker looked beyond the gravestones, over hills and fields and forests. Wessex was so green.
“I think Rhys is guiltier than you,” Leah replied. She kissed Hooker again, this time on the cheek.
“Rhys lives where the air is clean. He always will.”
Leah reached into her coat and pulled out a flask. “Here, this is the good stuff,” she said.
Hooker took a sip. Cognac. “Thanks, that’s good.”
“No, thank you.”
“Why?”
Leah took a pull from the flask, wincing her approval. “I’ve learnt more about you in the last five minutes than I have in the last five years.”
Hooker brushed Leah’s cheek with a calloused finger. “Right, let’s finish what we came here to do…”
Leah looked at the graves. “D’you need more time?”
Hooker touched Beatriz’s stone, tears pricking his eyes. “We’ve work to do. Promises to keep.”
Their boots crunched on gravel as they left the church. A muddy Land Rover pulled up. “Get in,” said Gordy Rice. “Was everything okay up there?”
“Did what I needed to do,” Hooker replied, climbing in next to his old boss. “You’ve located the package?”
“This bloody ridiculous. Rufus, we could go back to London and forget the whole thing…”
“I took a job. I’m finishing it.”
“Not like this,” Gordy replied.
“Hey, Gordy, think of it as your good deed for the day,” said Leah, tapping the patch on her face. “I mean, I lost an eye.”
“And I paid for a new one,” Gordy grumbled.
“An implant? Nah, ain’t the same,” Leah replied, a smile playing across her black-painted lips. “I mean, my modelling career is completely fucked.”
“Not now, Martinez, for Christ’s sake,” Gordy grumbled. They drove through a forest. A curious deer watched from the trees, munching grass.
“Where are we?” said Leah.
“Hampshire,” said Gordy, accepting the flask and taking a swig. “The Wessex PROTEX is eight miles due north of the next turnoff. Trashmob’s on the way to the RV now.”
“Okay,” Hooker replied, checking his watch. “His transit pass is good?”
Gordy smiled, pleased with his skulduggery. “It’s a genuine contract – Gloucester to Holyhead, fragile cargo escort. North Wales went tits-up again. This is the return leg. He’ll need to check in through the Heathrow Gate, but I’ve got that covered.”
“Must have cost you,” said Leah, rubbing her fingers together.
Gordy grimaced. “Bloody fortune, pet.”
“A deal’s a deal,” Hooker replied.
Leah finished the cognac. “Hey, Gordy, did Hyatt pay up?”
“Damon Rhys did,” Gordy sighed. “Don’t worry, Martinez. You’ll get paid, less what it cost me to bribe the watch commander at the Heathrow Gate. That’s only fair, given the bloody stupidity of what we’re doing out here.”
Leah scowled, and Hooker laughed. Gordy stopped the Land Rover and pulled a fob from his pocket. “I’m pinging t
he signal, two hundred metres east. The package is static.”
“Right on time,” said Hooker. Opening a bag, he pulled out a long-barrelled pistol. Satisfied it was loaded, he slid it inside his coat pocket.
Leah took the fob from Gordy. Hopping out of the Land Rover, she pulled a vintage Glock-19 from her bag. Hooker followed her along a track and over a three-bar gate. Beyond lay a bridle path, threaded through a knot of lush conifers. Leah watched a glowing icon on the pad. “Ten metres,” she whispered. “Along that path.”
“There’s the mutt,” said Hooker, pulling the pistol from his pocket.
The dog was a Jack Russell, white with black patches. It scurried towards Leah and sniffed around her feet, stumpy tail wagging. “Hello boy,” she whispered, patting its head. Rolling on its back, the dog presented its pinkish belly.
Hooker moved quietly, tree-to-tree, pistol ready. The air smelt damp and clean, the only sound the rush of wind through leaves.
“Where’s that bloody dog?” said a voice.
“Chasing rabbits. He’ll be back soon, Jason,” a young woman replied. “I won’t be a moment, honest. This spot is the only place in the wood I can get a fob signal.”
“No problem. It’s just I know that dog…”
Hooker stepped from behind a tree, aimed, and fired. The weapon hissed, a glittering dart hitting the man in the back of the neck. He spun, hand reaching inside his jacket. Hooker fired again, a second dart hitting his arm. A third bit into his thigh, a fourth the back of his hand. The man slumped to the ground, unconscious.
“Will he be okay?” said Lottie Rhys. She wore old denim jeans and hiking boots. Her fisherman’s jumper was fitted enough to show the swell of her belly.
Hooker nodded. “He’ll be fine. The darts are tipped with military-grade Haloxyline. He’ll sleep like a baby for twelve hours. I’ll make him comfortable, then we’ll go.”
Lottie pulled the slumbering bodyguard’s gun, unloaded it and tossed it into the trees. Her fob followed, along with its giveaway GPS signal. Reaching into some bushes, she pulled out a bulky rucksack. “I didn’t think you’d come, Hooker.”
“I promised.”
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!” said Lottie.
“Huh?”
Lottie Rhys smiled. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve had my scan.”
“How’d it go?”
“They’re trying to pretend everything’s normal, but six doctors attending a routine pregnancy scan? It’s a boy, in excellent health. I heard one of the doctors whisper he’s growing fifteen percent faster than normal.”
“And then?”
“Dad said they’ll put the baby in a special home until I’m ready to look after it. In America, naturally.”
“More bullshit, right?”
Lottie nodded. “I believe what the terrorists told me, about Tristian Gramercy. It makes complete sense.”
They reached Leah, the little dog tucked under her arm. “You’ve decided to keep the baby?” she said.
“This is Leah,” said Hooker. “She’s a tendency to ask direct questions.”
“Charlotte Rhys,” said Lottie, offering Leah her hand. “I was sorry to hear about your eye.”
A shrug. “Shit happens. They bought me a new one.”
Lottie tucked her hair behind an ear and made a silly face for the dog. “I’m not sure what sort of mother I’ll make, but my baby isn’t growing up like a laboratory rat.”
Hooker thought the girl brave. He squeezed her shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, Lottie. Tough, maybe, but okay.”
The dog yapped excitedly as the girl hugged it. “The three of us are going on an adventure,” she said, ruffling its ears.
A tight-lipped Gordy drove them away, Lottie hidden behind privacy-glassed windows. They parked thirty minutes later, in an old farmyard. “Now we wait,” he said.
Soon they heard heavy diesel engines. Three armoured PROTEX escort carriers, grey-painted monsters covered in riot mesh, liveried ECHO-SEVEN in gothic script. Old Union flags flew from whip aerials, equipment stowed on turrets. A hatch in the nearest vehicle’s cab swung open. “Wessex might be green, but fuck me it’s boring,” said a wiry man in combat gear.
“Trashmob, good to see you,” Hooker replied.
“This is the package?” he said, nodding at Lottie.
“She needs to get to the Answerer’s monastery at Northwood,” said Hooker. “They’ll take her tomorrow night, ask for Brother Ranjit.”
“Where exactly?” said Lottie, slipping a lead around the Jack Russell’s neck.
“The Answerer’s have a commune, up near York. They’ve got midwives and a nursery. You’ll be safe until you decide what you want to do next.” Hooker had done the deal with Brother Ranjit, the young monk intrigued and excited at the opportunity to help a woman carrying an archangel.
“These are your new ID permissions,” said Gordy, passing Lottie a leather wallet. “There’s now’t we can do about the biometrics at the moment, so keep your bloody head down.”
Lottie gave Trashmob a plastic card. “As agreed. Login, security code and crypto-key for my father’s investment account. I’d empty it now, before they notice I’ve gone.”
“Bleep’s ready to do the deed, soon as you fob him,” said Hooker. The OCS threatened the infomancer with torture, but Bleep simply laughed and promised to enjoy it. His lawyers were already working on a hefty settlement for false arrest.
“I’ll be calling the freak soon as we hit the road,” Trashmob grinned, opening the carrier’s armoured side door. “Hop in, love. Mercy here will look after you.”
The girl Hooker and Leah saved from the Mare Street shop lounged inside the carrier. Dressed in fighting gear, a carbine across her lap. She waved at Hooker, smiling. Hooker waved back. “How’s she working out?”
“Mercy? She’s a vicious little bastard with the morals of a hyena,” Trashmob replied, kneading his chin. “Basically, she’s perfect.”
Mercy opened a panel in the carrier’s hull, revealing a hidden compartment. “You must get inside when we near the checkpoint,” Mercy said to Lottie. “It will not be for long.”
Lottie nodded. She turned to Hooker and smiled. “Will you come and see us?”
“Er, sure. When it’s safe,” he replied, not expecting the question. “Now go.”
“I’m going to call him Rufus,” said Lottie. “The baby, not the dog.”
Leah chuckled. Hooker tried to find words, but couldn’t. Just took the girl’s hand and squeezed. Trashmob climbed inside the cab and revved the engine. The convoy motored away in a cloud of filthy smoke. Gordy checked his watch. “Your Wessex permissions run out tomorrow, but I’d get out now. When Rhys finds out she’s missing, he’ll come looking.”
Leah shrugged. “They’ll look for her, Hooker. You know they will.”
“They can’t prove it was us,” Hooker shrugged. “Anyhow, her kid deserves better than being brought up as an experiment. If Lottie needs me again, I’ll take her somewhere else.”
Gordy shook his head. “Lunacy, Rufus.”
Hooker shot his old boss a look. “I did six years in prison rather than rat you out, Gordon. Now that’s lunacy.”
“So you keep reminding me,” Gordy muttered. “I’ll let you know what Rhys is up to next, and I’ll get you alibis for today. But this is dangerous stuff. Bloody Archangels…”
“If we’re going to have ‘em breed, let them be raised like anyone else,” Hooker shrugged. “Let ‘em be kids. Learn about normal people.”
Leah nodded, good eye locked on Gordy’s. “I agree. Fuck their superman program.”
“I’m glad we all see it the same way,” Hooker replied, sniffing the air. It smelt of manure. “The countryside’s overrated. I dunno ‘bout you two, but I’m going back to work. There’s a new shop near Essford needs closing.”
“I dunno. Gordy’s funding me to start my own company,” said Leah. “Ain’t you, Mister Rice?”
Gordy grimaced
. “PROTEX companies are like throwing good money after bad. D’you know how much three of those escort wagons cost?”
“Four,” Leah corrected. “And six technicals.”
Hooker smiled. “Like I said, a deal’s a deal.”
Leah touched her new eye. “Mind you, it might look suspicious, me rolling in dough so soon after the girl went missing again.”
“Yeah, I make you right,” said Hooker.
Leah squeezed the big man’s hand. “So mebbe I can help you close that shop? For old time’s sake.”
Hooker turned up his collar against the wind, eyes narrowed against the watery Wessex sun. “I appreciate that. Let’s go to work.”
Dark as Angels: We are the Enemy Page 24