Girls With Guns

by Ali Vali

  Bel appraised her plan. It required little consideration until she reached her destination. If Esther was there, she had to talk to her. As if on cue, the pointer finger on her right hand, her trigger finger, twitched. If Esther wouldn’t talk to her she knew what she was trained to do. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? She looked at her watch. She’d set the stopwatch running the moment she’d entered the stairwell at HQ. It now said five minutes and thirty-six seconds. Training or no training, within ten minutes, she might be faced with the real possibility of aiming a loaded gun at her lover. The pressure was immense. The situation was impossible. Although Bel was slowly soaking layers of clothing with sweat, the thought sent a ripple of cold shiver through her.

  The train stopped at Embankment, Charing Cross, and Leicester Square. She looked again at her watch. Nearly nine minutes had passed, and as the train slowed, easing into Tottenham Court Road station, she prepared to disembark.

  The platform at Tottenham Court Road was busy. She stared out of the glazed upper half of the door, first in line to leave the Northern line and change to the Central line. It hadn’t occurred to her until now, but people stood dangerously close to the edge of the platform as the train approached. She stared into the faces of people staring back. It was hardly surprising that, although she looked, she never really saw anyone.

  That was until she saw Abby Wandsworth.

  Agent Abigail Wandsworth was a senior trainer in the Hotstream team and had mentored Bel in her first four weeks. The look of surprise followed immediately by horror on Abby’s face was probably a mirror image of her own. She watched as Abby called it in. Bel couldn’t read lips, nor could she hear a word she was saying, but as Abby advanced down the platform, never taking her eyes off Bel, she knew she was informing Control of Bel’s exact location.

  Any agents in the nearby vicinity would be called to apprehend her.

  Shit!

  Bel quickly searched her section of the train. No one paid her particular interest, and she had to assume that so far Abby was the only agent nearby.

  She turned back and saw Abby weave her way through the crowd, gaining ground as the train prepared to stop completely. Bel scanned her memory for an escape route.

  She had deliberately placed herself in a middle carriage, and it was just as well she did. When the train stopped, she leapt through the barely open doors and crashed through a mass of people pushing to get on the train. Bel scampered for the stairs that ascended from the middle of the platform. Seeing a train pull up on the other side, heading south on the Northern line, she rushed to jump through the doors. The whistle blew just as she saw Abby launch herself from mid-platform onto the same train, only three carriages away.

  The doors began to close. Bel had no idea what to do. Abby was on the same train. She was at risk of being arrested before she had a chance to reach Esther. Suddenly, it occurred to her that they might use her to find Esther. She needed time alone with Esther before the cavalry arrived. She had no control over other agents and knew a shoot-to-kill order would be in place for a suspected suicide bomber whether Bel was there trying to talk her down or not.

  Through the smallest of gaps, Bel jumped back through the doors and onto the platform. She tripped over a small Superman suitcase on wheels and scrambled to her knees just as the train pulled away. Abby Wandsworth stared helplessly as her fist pounded the glass door.

  Bel had to get out of the underground.

  She dashed for the exit stairs and took them two at a time. Only aboveground could she give herself the best possible chance of reaching Esther. Aboveground she couldn’t be hunted by Control via the CCTV, and aboveground she had more options to hide.

  Hiding in the open was what Bel did best.

  Chapter Ten

  At the entrance of Tottenham Court Road station, Bel was greeted with glaring sunlight. Normally ascending from the underground into bright sunshine was one of her favourite things, but today she squinted at the glare, pulled the sunglasses down from her head, and burst into a steady run down Oxford Street. If her calculations were correct and her pace remained constant, she would reach her destination, and hopefully Esther, within four minutes.

  People stared at her. Who wouldn’t? Her only saving grace was that no one was chasing her. She muttered “sorry” as she knocked into dawdling tourists and window-shoppers. Oxford Street was notoriously busy. As one of London’s premier shopping locations, it was rarely quiet. The masses of people were so dense on the footpath, it was easy enough to lose a friend just walking out of a shop together. While a busy street had its advantages, she was forced to alternate between the gutter and the footpath to maintain a steady pace. Taxis and buses beeped her but she carried on relentlessly.

  A rickshaw with loud dance music pulled alongside her. “Hop in, baby. You’re sure in a hurry.”

  The words were laced with an Eastern European accent that didn’t seem to fit. On any other day, Bel would have smiled at his attempt to be a suave Jamaican; however, this lean, pale, bearded man was far from Jamaican. He was a godsend. She jumped in.

  “Oxford Circus, please,” said Bel.

  Obviously sensing the urgency of the situation, the man nodded and said, “Yes, ma’am.” The muscles in his legs tightened as he rose from his seat and began pedalling, forcing the contraption to gain momentum.

  Bel scrummaged in her jean pockets for money. She pulled out a five-pound and a ten-pound note. The earlier conversation with Esther came flooding back. She pushed the five back into her jeans, then pulled out her phone. It had beeped the moment it came back into range, but it was just a text message from Charlie urging her to return to HQ. She dialled voice mail and found three voice messages.

  “Hey, can you turn that down, please.” She raised her voice over the throbbing dance beat, and the driver immediately flicked a switch on his makeshift dashboard that held a sat nav and an iPhone.

  She could at least hear herself think now.

  The first message was from Charlie. “Bel. You’re making a career-destroying mistake. Call me and we can sort this out.”

  The second message was from Esther. Her heart faltered. She held her breath in anticipation.

  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  That was it. I’ll be waiting for you.

  Bel was so elated to hear from Esther she nearly didn’t bother to listen to the third message. The tone of Charlie’s voice immediately demanded her attention. “It’s a setup.” Charlie was speaking in a panicked whisper. “You won’t have long—” After a few moments when it sounded like the phone was being covered somehow, the call ended.

  Although it was difficult to hear details with all the activity on Oxford Street, Bel was almost certain Charlie had cut the call short because someone was listening, or perhaps she’d been interrupted. Either way, it was a warning, and the tone in Charlie’s voice from one message to the other was so dramatically different that it demanded serious consideration.

  Bel reviewed the information. It was sketchy at best. Esther was probably waiting for her at Oxford Circus station, and something about the current situation was a setup. Charlie was warning Bel, so the setup had something to do with her. Or more likely, Esther. But whose side was Esther on? Esther was being hunted, she was a suspected suicide bomber, and she was Esme Gaffney. Who was setting up whom, and what could Bel do to protect herself?

  She began with the obvious: remove the clothing Abby would have reported she was wearing. She jerked her gun from her holster, untucked her T-shirt, and pushed the gun down the front of her jeans, pulling her T-shirt over the top. She loosened her belt. It was uncomfortable as hell, and she adjusted the weapon as a man would his appendage in uncomfortable underpants. She removed her new hat, jacket, and the gun holster, stuffing them down the side of the seat. It briefly occurred to her that work would be pissed off that she needed a new holster until she remembered she’d probably need a new career. The thought saddened her, but right now, it was the least of her worr
ies.

  As the rickshaw pulled up onto the curb at one of the entrances of Oxford Circus station, she decided to trust no one. Not Charlie, and until she knew more, not even Esther, but especially not Conrad Rush. Bel was on her own.

  The driver was clearly surprised to have a ten-pound note thrust in his hand, but he smiled his thanks. Beyond that, Bel had no idea what he did; she was already down the stairs inside the station.

  She tried to think what Rush would do, knowing Abby had spotted her at Tottenham Court Road station. How far would he be expecting her to travel beyond there? Would his calculated guess presume she was close to Esther? It was useless trying to second-guess someone trying to second-guess you. She gave up and focused on expecting every outcome. Every bad outcome. She wanted to be prepared for the worst.

  Oxford Circus station was under the intersection of Oxford and Regent Streets. Three lines intersected at Oxford Circus: Bakerloo, Central, and Victoria lines. Oxford Circus had six platforms; it was the busiest train station in the whole of the United Kingdom.

  If Esther had stayed where she was when Bel spotted her on the cameras at Control, she’d know exactly where to find her, but a woman wearing a bulky black jacket in the middle of summer, sitting stationary while trains came and went, would draw attention to herself. So, even though Bel would commence her search where she’d first spotted Esther, she didn’t for one moment expect to find her there.

  Bel descended the escalators to platform three, the southbound Bakerloo line. She walked the entire length of the platform, relieved not to find Esther. She performed the same sweep of the northbound Bakerloo line on platform four with the same result.

  The Victoria line was the latest addition to services at Oxford Circus, being added in 1969. The northbound and southbound lines ran from platforms not adjacent to each other; they were separated by the two Bakerloo lines. The northbound Victoria line was the closest, so she rushed there next.

  It was nearing the end of the three-hour peak period on the underground from six to nine a.m., and the seconds were ticking for Esther. She scanned constantly for any signs of other Hotstream agents. In the back of her mind she knew at least one must be there, but with so many stations and walkways and ticket offices, Control must have known they were looking for another needle in a haystack. Bel prayed that just for a few minutes longer she remained undetected. She was close. She could sense it.

  It was a mind fuck, trying to remain undetected while simultaneously trying to determine if she had been detected, if she was being followed, and if someone was scanning the faces of everybody they encountered, trying to find her. She forced herself to look at the people surrounding her while at the same time hoping no one was looking her way.

  A train was arriving on the southbound Victoria-line platform when she turned right into a crowd of people edging forward. Everyone stood staring expectantly as the train slowed, eyes forward attempting to locate the carriage with the most available seats. Some people shuffled right, some left, but one set of eyes wasn’t looking forward, was oblivious to the incoming train, and harboured pure fear.

  Esther’s eyes were fixed on Bel. She was barely twenty metres away.

  Bel was so relieved, she held her breath and stumbled into a suited lady when she finally exhaled. “I’m so sorry.” The woman didn’t acknowledge her, just pushed forward to board the train.

  When Bel looked up, Esther was gone.

  Bel pushed through the crowd, but now the platform was full of people who had just disembarked the train. She couldn’t win with these crowds. She jumped up and down trying to spot Esther, but gave up when she realised she might draw unnecessary attention to herself. She spied a set of seats. On the London underground, seats, usually in sets of fours, were sparsely scattered along the back wall of most tunnels. It was a risk, riskier than bobbing up and down in a mass of people, but the reward was probably greater. She could stand well above everybody on the platform and spot Esther immediately.

  Oh, fuck it! She pushed her way to the rear of the platform, stepped up, and scanned the area where Esther had been. She was almost upon that spot now, but there was no Esther. She glanced back to where she had come from, on the off chance they had unknowingly passed each other. Nope. No Esther. Finally, before stepping down she looked to the far end of the platform. The train began to move, and as the final carriage disappeared into the black tunnel, so did Esther.

  “Esther, no!”

  Bel leapt from the seat and barged her way to the far end of the platform. “Esther!”

  What the hell was Esther doing? She had to get to her before she killed herself or blew up the damn tunnel.

  The commotion behind her gained momentum, and she turned to see a Metropolitan Transport employee and a couple of eager members of the public rushing in her direction. It was now or never.

  Bel leapt onto the train tracks. Wafts of black sooty dust rose as she disturbed the sediment with every step. She quickly found her stride and chased Esther, calling her name. A residual glow from the platform provided enough light for her to proceed at speed. A quick glance around her and she knew she’d have to maintain a decent pace because there was certainly nowhere to hide in the tunnel yet. Most tunnels had alcoves and doors leading to staircases and passages only accessible on foot, but if another train came now, she’d have nowhere to go but to lie down in the suicide pit. She would fit in the pit, she knew that based on the dimensions she’d studied during training, but the thought of a train hurtling over the top of her wasn’t an attractive prospect.

  “Esther,” she called. “Wait, please, just wait.” She couldn’t see Esther, but she knew she could be heard. She also knew the Hotstream team would be on its way. If there had been an agent at Oxford Circus, it would only be a matter of minutes before Control would have the train on that line stalled while the agent accessed the tunnel. Bel was now a terrorist suspect, along with Esther, and she would not be afforded special treatment.

  Something caught her eye on the left hand side of the tunnel. Esther’s bag. It sat atop a large metal hatch. She pulled on the hatch. It was unlocked. Of course it was unlocked. Bel had to think and it had to be quickly.

  She grabbed the bag, opened the hatch, and disappeared. Bel found herself in a small tunnel. She quickly flashed her torch in the immediate vicinity. She couldn’t see Esther. A quick look around and she knew she was in the disused Royal Mail tunnel, out of service since 2003. How did Esther know how to access the tunnel? She paused, crouching low, and gathered her thoughts.

  For the imminent future, by slipping under the Hotstream radar, Bel had limited herself to two options. Option one was to find out Conrad was wrong and this was all one big mistake. In Bel’s experience, mistakes rarely end up in a disused tunnel under London, so she wasn’t holding out much hope. The second option was causing her the most distress. If her worst fears were correct, in the Royal Mail tunnel now were one bomber and one armed Hotstream officer.

  Bel drew her gun, flashed her torch left, then right, and chose to go right because the tunnel followed a path away from Oxford Circus station. More access doors or hatches were likely inside the station, increasing the chance of interception by her team. She lowered her torch to illuminate the immediate space in front of her and set off at a steady pace.

  The only sound she heard was the crunching of heavy blue metal stones under her feet. She shined the torch on her watch. It had been over four minutes since she’d followed the train on the northbound Victoria line into the tunnel, and she’d not heard or felt a train since. It was too long. She had seen that the next train had been due three minutes ago. Service on the line was surely suspended. It was likely the platform had been evacuated, and it was possible the whole station was in the process of evacuation.

  Bel had studied cross-section diagrams and maps of the entire underground system. She forced her brain to recall a three-dimensional diagram of Oxford Circus. In the picture in her mind, she removed all commuters and tried to think
where the Hotstream officers would come from and where they would go. Given that it was now almost five minutes since she had disappeared into blackness chasing Esther, she placed at least two officers in the tunnel and another five arriving at the scene. It was only a matter of time before either someone saw the hatch or Control directed an officer to it.

  Bel longed to breathe fresh air. Her heart was racing, and she deeply inhaled the stale, dusty air in the oppressive tunnel. She’d never been claustrophobic, even after the time she was accidentally locked in the cupboard under the stairs as a small child, but the Royal Mail tunnel was barely over two meters in diameter, and the thought of sharing the space with Esther and a wad of explosives left her on the verge of panic. She concentrated on the rhythm of her steps and attempted to focus in preparation for what might transpire next.

  “Bel, stop there.” Esther’s voice echoed through the tunnel.

  Bel thought she would be relieved when she caught up with Esther, but her voice was different. Esther sounded empty. Bel stalled and immediately shone her torch in the direction of the voice. The powerful light beam illuminated Esther no more than thirty metres away. Bel trained her Glock onto Esther before switching off the light. Charlie’s warning reverberated in her mind. She let her finger rest heavily on the trigger. At this distance, in such a small tunnel, Bel was sure she wouldn’t survive the blast if Esther detonated. Her only solace was that no one else would get hurt. If Esther detonated, the whole purpose of killing scores of people in a suicide bomb attack was a failure.

  Just the two of them would perish.

  “What’s going on, Esther?”

  “Don’t shoot me.”

  Bel felt nauseous at hearing Esther, the woman she loved, asking her not to shoot her. The enormity of the situation finally hit her. How had they arrived here? The facts were simple. Right now, Bel was the only one that might shoot her. She kept her gun and torch aloft and ready.