Alright, Eva was a little impressed. It was no wonder Harry captivated her. He had seemingly limitless ability to surprise her. More importantly, surprise her with being a mother-fucking bad arse. She could honestly say she’d never met anyone remotely like him.
A low murmur from the way they’d come, past her café on Craven Street, grew steadily in volume. The wall of sound was a horrifying mix of shouts, chants and smashing glass. Its source rounded the far corner and both Harry and Eva took a step backwards. About one hundred youths of mixed size, age and race marched as one towards them carrying crowbars, shards of wood and wrathful temperaments. Many wore handkerchiefs to conceal their identity. One thing was certain; they weren’t here to help.
There was no way Eva could get back to her café. They had to move away from the encroaching violent-looking throng, but that would mean moving towards the scene of the blast. They had no choice. Staying put would mean being beaten by a mob, or worse.
The office blocks weren’t the only ones emptying of their inhabitants.
The mass of youths must have streamed out of somewhere. There weren’t housing commissions this close to the city, but they must have been nearby. Even the looters in 2011 hadn’t been this quick to react. They were organised, motivated. How is that possible? The bombs had only exploded ten or fifteen minutes before and the emergency services had only just managed to appear, so how did this crowd mobilise so quickly?
It wasn’t the time to think about it. They were approaching, fast. Scanning the scene behind her, Eva saw wounded people still on the Strand with small groups surrounding them to assist.
Turning to face them, she shouted in a voice she thought herself incapable of, “You need to get these people out of here. Now.” People turned away from the advancing rabble and gazed at her bewildered. Shouting as loud as she could, she said, “This place is about to become a war zone, you need to pick up the wounded and fall back to where the ambulances and police are at Trafalgar Square. And you need to do it right fucking now. Go!”
Red Shirt and another man from Harry’s little mission were still positioned near the pharmacy. Pointing in their direction, Eva motioned to the wounded youth Harry had given a crack to the ribs. “That includes him, boys. You need to take him down there.” The two men gawked at Harry for guidance. He gave a curt nod and they proceeded to pick him up under the arms and cart him away. The youth offered no resistance. Harry’s lips cracked into a small grin and he gave Eva a wink.
Looking back at the faces of the office workers and shop owners, Eva saw nothing short of hopeless fear. Many took unconscious steps backwards recoiling from the oncoming hoard. Within minutes the street would be abandoned to the encroaching mass intent on looting and violence. Several workers had already broken into a run, not wanting to get caught in the crush. As much as it sickened Eva, she’d have to join them. There was no way she could get through them to protect her café against the sheer mass of viciousness coming her way. Nobody could.
Beside her, Harry climbed onto a Mini abandoned on the street. It seemed he had other ideas. The cuts on his forehead had dried and added to the drama of the moment. He faced the frightened, mostly suited, crowd.
Using his downturned palms to quell chatter, he raised his voice and addressed them. “Everyone, everyone! You all see what’s coming, but we can stop them. Nobody wants to see our city looted and destroyed. We can stop them dead, but we have to work together. There’s far more of us than them. We can hold them off.”
A middle-aged man in a cheap suit, with ridiculously thick neck pointed at Harry and asked, “Who the hell are you, Mate?”
“I’m the guy saying if we work together we can do some good.”
Eva eyed the street, the gathering at the far end seemed to have slowed their advance. It was as if they were waiting for a signal. Christ there were a lot of them.
Harry pointed at them. “These aren’t soldiers. These aren’t trained thugs. These are desperate people who think they’re owed something they’re not. They’re not evil, they’ve just seen an opening that shouldn’t exist. You can close it. We all can, but we have to do it together, as one. These guys are after goods, they’re not expecting resistance. They’re not expecting us.”
Another voice called out, “People are going to get smashed, right? Look at ‘em. You can’t guarantee folks aren’t in for a world of hurt.”
“No. No, I can’t. But let me ask you a question. Tomorrow, when people watch the news and someone asks if you were there, are you going to tell them you were part of the wall that held back chaos, or you ran away? Moments in life define us, right here, right now, this is one. What you decide now will define you for years to come. Were you part of the line that held, or did you turn tail and run?” Harry spun to see how close they were. “I for one want to hold my head high and one day tell people that I held The Strand Line and faced down anarchy. I was there the day Londoners said no more. The day we stood as one and took back our city. If you want to stand tall, look your kids in the eye and tell them about that moment in your life, that instant where you were asked to fight for what was right, what are you going to tell them? Did you run? Or did you hold that line?” Harry straightened his back and pushed out his chest. “Who’s with me?”
At first a handful of people, all men, stepped forward. Eva joined them. Soon a trickle turned into a flood. Whether it was a need to do the right thing, a sense of civic pride or guilt, it worked. Harry continued to rally support and soon there were hundreds surrounding the Mini. People held up their phones to capture the moment.
Those that joined were a strange mixture of angry, scared and bemused. But they were there, and they were building. A few, probably more than Eva would have expected, turned their backs and either walked or ran away.
Using the baseball bat to punctuate the point, Harry continued. “We make a line there. You hold that line, do you understand? No matter what, you hold. Always keep Trafalgar at your back, kind of apt, really. If someone gets injured, you create a tunnel, get them out, then move the next rank up. Disciplined. You have each other’s backs.”
In quick order, Harry directed people where to stand, how to support the lines in front, how to keep a roving band of burly reserves that could be deployed at any time should there be a break in the line. He even set up the pharmacy as a temporary triage area. He’d also used his phone for a short conversation she’d been unable to hear.
Where the hell were the rescue crews? Downing Street was only a few blocks away, surely police and ambulance crews should have been here by now. The longer it went on, the more Eva felt they were on their own. It was fortunate the city had its own saviour.
In a few short minutes Harry had organised his band of volunteers of office workers, students and shop owners into a human barrier across the street. The term ‘charismatic leader’ was mostly misused but, in Harry’s case, it seemed to have been created just for him. He was amazing. At that instant, if he’d told Eva he loved Margaret Atwood she’d have dropped her pants and demanded he do her up against Nelson’s Column.
The mob continued to hold position. They were motionless at the end of the street, increased in volume but lacking action. Harry glanced at the halted rabble and confusion shrouded his face. He was probably thinking the same as Eva. Why weren’t they attacking?
There was a disturbance at the front of the opposition’s position. One of the throng was physically being held back, apparently prevented from attacking. He didn’t seem too pleased about it. Finally shaking loose his compatriots, he ran full pelt towards Eva and everyone else. He carried a piece of metal pipe and a nasty disposition. Everyone around her tensed, but he remained the only one to break ranks. A few at the front of their position put out their hands holding back others, as if to say not yet.
As the young man ran, Harry jumped off the Mini and handed Eva the baseball bat. With a slanted grin, he said, “If you’re staying, you’ll need this.”
“Try and stop me.”
/>
“Eva, from what I’ve seen, there’s not much in this world that could.” He ran his hand along the side of her face and she closed her eyes at the tender touch. He pulled back his hand. “Excuse me.” With that he ran directly at the opposition’s single threat. As he took off, Eva could have sworn he muttered, “Our first catch of the day.”
Did he make an obscure Star Wars reference? But that quote was from a character in the Empire.
The two men ran at each other, neither slowed an iota. When they were mere feet away, the man raised his iron bar with both hands and let out a fierce battle cry. A mistake. Harry dropped his shoulder at the last second and plunged it into his ribcage.
Both men flew into the air. It seemed like minutes they hovered there. The man flew back, with Harry on top of him. The iron bar fell to the ground with a metallic clang and rolled away.
Dazed and hurt from Harry’s charge, the man attempted to rise, but Harry grabbed the front of his collar, drew back his fist and punched him in the face. His head flew back and he struggled. He threw loose punches, but Harry’s grip was strong. Successive punches were punctuated by words. “Not. In. My. Town.”
Cameras and mobile phones recording proceedings.
With his prey subdued, Harry hauled him onto his shoulder and fireman-carried him back to the edge of Trafalgar Square. He flung him into the arms of his lieutenants. Trotting back, Harry mounted his Mini podium, and addressed his ramshackle troops. “That’s how we do it. One on one. Help anyone that needs it. Watch your comrades, have each other’s backs. Hold the line. We can do this. You can do this.”
Eva believed him. Everyone believed him. But it was then that the low rumble at the other end of the street became a cacophony of fearful screams and shrieks. From around various corners more joined the mass of youths. So many more. The hundred turned into two hundred. They weren’t holding back because of the resistance. They were holding back because they were waiting for reinforcements. Grunting badger farts.
The rumble became louder and louder as if they were gearing themselves up. Several in the crowd positioned near Eva pushed through as they fled from the frightening wall of hurt.
One second the rabble were taunting, the next they ran. Having been given a signal, the horde charged with a deafening war cry. They sprinted, gnarling and gnashing.
It was terrifying.
But Eva wasn’t afraid. Deep within her core, logically, she should be, but wasn’t. She was loving the danger.
Eva rolled up her sleeves, slid her back foot sideways to better repel force and spat on the ground. Staring down the attacking swarm, she forced air out her nose, and mumbled, “Come at me fuckers.”
Time slowed. For the longest time it seemed like nothing happened. Then all it once it did.
With a nauseating crash the mob hit the mass of office workers, shop owners, tourists and students. There was an agonising oof sound, combined with the clang of metal on bone. Fist on skin.
Eva paid the sound little heed. She was too busy screaming like a banshee and swinging her bat at any target she could find. The world became a melange of weapons, limbs, teeth and blood.
If Eva had believed in hell, this is what she’d have imagined.
Cole and Decker stared at her. Neither spoke. For several seconds they just blinked. Finally Cole managed to form words. “You were there?” He asked with a tenor of awe. “The Battle of Trafalgar? On that day of all days?”
Eva didn’t try to hide the proudness she still held. “I know.”
“The day he…the day Lancing…”
“A little later, but yep.”
They knew how the rest of that particular tale went.
Cole was about to ask something, but Eva cut him off. “Hey, who’s telling this story?”
Both officers leaned forward in rapt attention, which was exactly where she wanted them. While she held them distracted by tales of yore, she was almost done with the other handcuff. It had been easier than she’d thought.
Her cockiness cost her. The bobby pin slipped and sprang from her grip. Her sigh covered the sound of it hitting the floor.
She’d been so close and now she was screwed.
In response to her sigh, Decker asked, “Are we being bothersome with questions, Ms Destruction?”
“Ah, no. Not at all. It’s just, ah, I remember what happened after. The stuff after the news reports and such. The next night was when everything changed for me.”
“How so?”
“That was the night I met Horatio Lancing.”
Chapter Nine
The small gate creaked out the front and footsteps echoed across the tiny path. Eva was nervous. When was the last time that happened? The knock at the door made her jump. Through the slit in the curtain she watched him knock again, step back and wait.
She reprimanded herself for acting like a star-struck teen and steeled herself. She was tougher than that.
Before she moved from her voyeuristic position at the window, stomping footsteps echoed along the hall. The door was wrenched open and a lanky, dishevelled and slightly confused man stood perplexed before Harry. Bless Paul. Eva made her way through the lounge in the fear he’d scare poor Harry off.
She heard Harry’s muffled voice. “I’m terribly sorry, I must be at the wrong address.”
Paul let out a noise not dissimilar to a startled elk. After first exclaiming, “Fuck me sideways,” he promptly slammed the door in Harry’s face.
Turning to Eva, Paul shook his head at her open-mouthed. Before she could utter a syllable, Paul flung open the door to reveal a justifiably confused Harry.
“You’re him. The bloke from the telly,” Paul said in reverence. “The Battle of Trafalgar guy. Am I right?”
“Uh, well, yes, I was there–”
Paul turned to Eva. “Evie, you never told us you were dating a celebrity.”
“This isn’t a…” She sighed, “Just let him in.”
Paul motioned Harry to come in and promptly disappeared into the kitchen forgetting to greet their guest.
Harry tentatively stepped into the narrow hallway. The man that had rallied a city appeared nervous. Eva made him out for the first time. Bathed in the soft light of the bulb above his head, he had no visible scars from the previous day’s battle.
Forgetting her vow of strength, Eva grinned. “Hi. You look nice.”
Look nice?
NICE?
Who the hell was this person speaking? Since when did Eva use the word ‘nice’ or care about what people wore? That wasn’t what she was about. Sure, judge someone for what they read, their stance on social justice issues, but not the clothes on their back. Everything about Harry made her lose focus on what she believed in.
He did smell nice though.
She mentally kicked herself.
Harry rocked on his heels and nodded. “Thanks. Well, I had some help.”
Overcome with a sudden sense of dread, Eva mulled that statement over. Help choosing clothes? Did he mean a girlfriend, wife? She realised she knew next to nothing about this man.
Picking up on her lost expression, Harry said, “I commandeered a younger member of staff during the day to ask sartorial questions. I chose him mainly because he had immaculate hair. I believe he first thought it some kind of test, but eventually he figured out I was a bit clueless. We went on a little shopping expedition.”
With his hands, he gave a ta-da gesture. Wearing the rewards, Harry was fashionable, but not over the top in his jacket, jeans and shirt combination.
With arms folded, Eva gave an appreciative nod. When did he find the time? Lead a counter-riot one day, have a makeover the next.
There was a commotion from the kitchen, voices were raised, and something smashed.
“Come in and meet everyone. That was Paul by the way.”
Paul stepped out of the kitchen, tea towel over his shoulder. “What now? Someone said my name.” Not waiting for an answer, he extended his hand. “Any commotion you may
have heard was completely Nancy’s fault and I’m willing to sign statutory declarations to that effect. Sorry about before, Evie didn’t tell us much about you.”
“That’s because I don’t know much.” She hefted a challenging eyebrow in Harry’s direction.
Giving a knowing smile, he said, “You’ll know a lot more very soon. Believe me.”
Was that a promise or was he flirting? Or both?
Harry handed over the bottle of wine he’d brought. Paul read the label and pursed his lips.
“I’ve never heard of it, is it decent?”
“I believe so.”
“Good-oh. Come in, I’d give you the grand tour but it would take less time to complete than this sentence.” They stepped from the hall. “This is what we like to call the lounge. That’s the kitchen and that’s my wife Nancy and upstairs is the bedroom.”
Nancy stepped in from the kitchen and gazed at her husband disbelievingly. “Way to bury the lede.”
“Huh?” Paul asked.
Ignoring her clueless husband, Nancy shook Harry’s hand. “A pleasure.”
Harry grinned. “Thank you for inviting me for dinner. Your request couldn’t have come at a better time.”
“Oh, our pleasure.” The grin virtually encircled her head. She turned to Eva in the adjoining kitchenette. “I don’t know what you’re on about, he’s not hideous. He’s bloody gorgeous.”
Eva rolled her eyes at her best friend as she sliced a crispy loaf. She’d expect nothing less from Nancy. She issued Harry a good natured sorry about my friends grimace.
This wasn’t a date. She’d made that perfectly clear. When he’d found her after the riot he’d repeatedly told her he was thankful she was unharmed. They’d exchanged brief tales of cracking skulls, but then fell into an uncomfortable silence. Eva surprised herself when she’d suggested dinner. Definitely not a date though, she’d stated that firmly, it would be with her friends. She wanted to thank him for looking after her, for protecting the street.
The Barista’s Guide to Espionage Page 9