The Locke Cipher

by Gabriel Kron

  “Yes, Inspector, I am willing to shoot whoever if they get in the way of national security. Now give me my prisoner!” Rourke shouted.

  There was no way I was going to hang around. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. The driver’s door was fully open though. Luckily my hands had been cuffed in front of me, so I dived over the front seats, clambering out of the driver’s door and staying low.

  The officer who had just been shot was by the car on the floor. He was gritting his teeth and straining with the pain. There was a lot of blood.

  “Keys. Give me your keys,” I whispered to the officer. He didn’t respond and instead threw his head back and screamed again as he tried to move his leg. His keys were just next to him on the floor. I wasn’t going to ask again and I wasn’t going to hang around here. I grabbed the keys and staying low I ran for the inner double doors I had been led out of not long before.

  As I crashed through the doors I heard shouts behind me and knew I only had a few seconds head start.

  I sprinted down the corridor and just reached the service stairwell when the doors burst open. I glanced back down the corridor in time to see one of the men aim and squeeze off the first of two shots. They hit the plaster behind me as I started running up the stairs. I have to get these handcuffs off. I just hoped there was actually a key on the ring, but I needed a breather to have the time to do so. I dug deeper and started striding faster up the stairs. If I could get myself into the public galleries, it would be safer as they surely wouldn’t open fire there.

  The doors at the base of the stairwell smacked against the wall and I could hear my pursuers. I prayed they would be slower than me and continued up another floor. I knew the Science Museum quite well and was expecting to come out somewhere like the Transport gallery. Instead, as I shouldered through yet another set of doors, I found myself on a long highly polished mezzanine floor above a gallery I did not recognise. The balustrade was heavy marble and overlooked a tall grand gallery hall.

  I gasped for air, my lungs burning, as I tried to get my bearings. Not knowing where I was, I ran towards the nearest exhibition and hid behind one of the large stone archways that extended up to the main ceiling and over to the other side of the large exhibition hall.

  As I fumbled with the keys I had snatched from the injured officer, I saw signs that made me realise where I was. The V&A monogram? I was in the Victoria and Albert museum? How the hell was I in the V&A? Finally, I found the key and removed the handcuffs.

  Only seconds later I heard the doors open and the squeak of my pursuers' boots on the highly polished floor. Carefully peeking around the base of the exhibit cabinet, I could see two armed men from the loading bay progressively making their way towards me peering into each section of the gallery. I had to act fast, before I was seen. I quietly moved further into the gallery and put as much distance as I could between us before positioning myself at the end of the exhibition near the next archway.

  I checked where the two armed men were and was pleased that they were just starting to search deeper into the gallery. Just a few more steps and I should be able to make it to the next exhibition without being seen.

  I crouched ready to go. Bang! The glass in the cabinet next to me shattered, showering me and the floor with thousands of bits of broken glass. Instinctively I hit the floor as the wooden plinth the glass cabinet was on splintered as another round just missed me. Through the marble balustrades I could see the shooter on the other side of the hall. It was another one of the armed men from the loading bay. Fuck!

  Staying on all fours, I rushed like a monkey out of the gallery, trying to keep the heavy stone architecture between me and them. My face stung as stone exploded mere inches from my head as they tried again to shoot me. But I was running, the adrenalin pumping hard. I was now a moving target, harder to hit as another glass cabinet exploded. I ran behind it heading for the stairs that led down to the main floor.

  After the first few steps down the wide marble staircase I jumped the rest, landing hard and crashing into the wall but staying on my feet. As I pushed off to start down the next flight, I saw the two armed men begin their descent.

  Trying to keep myself as close to the wall as possible and out of their view, I rushed down the stairs onto the ground floor.

  Which way, which way? Any way! Keeping moving was more important, but moving towards where or who? And where was everyone? I hadn’t seen any members of the public or any museum staff. Why hadn’t anyone screamed when the shots were fired and glass exploded? Why no alarms?

  As I weaved my way through the displays, artefacts and exhibits, I soon found out why. At the far end of the hall, a large scaffold had been erected across the whole width of the gallery hall and stretched right to the ceiling. Clear plastic sheeting encased the entire structure. I knew what this meant before I got there. The gallery hall doors were locked. Duct tape sealed any possible gaps between the frame and doors and secured the plastic sheeting tightly to the scaffold. ‘Asbestos removal in progress’ warning signs were taped every few yards around the structure.

  To get back to the other end or even back to the main stairs in the middle meant I would have to try and get passed at least three maybe four trained and armed pursuers.

  I didn’t have many, if any options, so I entered the air-tight scaffold structure through the airlock cubicle and started to climb the first of a series of ladders that had been installed. The scaffold was quite wide and maybe I could keep out of sight if I stayed near the back. If I could get to the next level, I might be able to reach the service stairs I had used from the loading bay. As I pulled myself up to the first staging of scaffold, I could hear my pursuers.

  “Where is he?” said a voice I recognised as the one who had been arguing with Inspector Reynolds.

  “Down there. It’s locked off, so he’s trapped,” someone replied.

  “Doors and stairs gentlemen. It’s time I make sure this ends... Bateman!” Rourke shouted.

  My name reverberated off the masses of stone architecture. “Bateman. I know you can hear me. I am General William Rourke with the Secret Intelligence Service, MI5. You know I have no option but to take you in... Bateman?”

  I saw Rourke walking up the centre aisle of the gallery towards the scaffold, checking around each display. I needed to get up another level of scaffold before I’d be able to climb back onto the mezzanine floor.

  “There’s no-where to go now, you’re trapped. Finally. So we can do this the easy way or the hard way. I’d prefer the easy way. So why don’t you come on out and we can discuss this?”

  Rourke had stopped and was looking around whilst at the same time screwing a silencer onto his handgun.

  Yeah, it looks like you want to discuss things.

  The ladder to the next level was near the front of the scaffold. I’d be an easy target, so I couldn’t use it. I had to stay back in the shadows near the wall, but I couldn’t just stay where I was for long. Above me was a gap between the wall and the toe board of the next level that I could fit through, but I needed to be quiet.

  Holding onto the ledger and transom above, I walked up one of the diagonal cross braces to the next lift of boards that would give me access to the mezzanine floor. As I eased myself over the toe-board, an iron clamp holding it to the upright standard fell off and clattered to the first lift of boards below.

  Immediately three rounds from Rourke’s silenced handgun punctured the plastic screening and pounded into the plastered wall right next to where the clamp had fallen. Shit, he was good! I lay perfectly still for only a couple of seconds before starting to slowly crawl towards the end nearest the mezzanine floor. I was fairly well hidden and I couldn’t see Rourke. I therefore assumed he couldn’t see me.

  What I could see was more disturbing. Walking directly towards me along the mezzanine was one of the armed men. I had perhaps ten seconds before he reached the scaffold. I looked across to the other side and could see someone approaching from there as well. Bo
th my exit routes were now no longer viable. Looking around for a weapon of any kind I found several short lengths of scaffold, stacked in the middle of the platform.

  I could feel another rush of adrenalin as my options became fewer and even more challenging. Waiting for just a fraction of a second, I sprang from where I was and picked up one of the transoms. I ran and launched myself at the armed assailant as he drew near the scaffold.

  The end of the transom punctured the plastic sheeting and I felt it connect with something solid as I crashed through the ripped covering and landed on top of the armed assailant. We both ended up on the floor, the impact winding me slightly. As I struggled for breath I saw the injured assailant raise his handgun. He was blinking repeatedly to try and clear his vision as blood from a large circular gash in his forehead poured down his face.

  “You fucking sh—” he said, but was cut short as I kicked out, hitting him in the groin. It didn’t hit home fully, but the power of the kick caused him to buckle. I still had the transom in my hand and I swung it hard at his gun arm. Hitting him across the wrist, the handgun skated across the polished wooden floor bouncing off the wall as it spun. I tried for a second hit, but his instinctive reactions caught the pole mid-flight and was followed by a heavy right-cross into the side of my face, followed by another and another as he pinned me to the floor. Surprisingly, there was little pain even though I felt my nose break on the second hit, the metallic taste of my own blood filled my mouth.

  With both hands I tried to defend and block the punches. I tried grabbing his face or neck, but he was too quick. Parrying my hands he managed to land another punch. My eye was closing up. I had practised in the dojo thousands of times how to escape this type of situation. In the dojo, though, it was different. Now I was on the verge of unconsciousness and fighting for my life. I was surprised that thoughts of these lessons were even there. I lifted my feet high off the ground and slammed them into the floor, thrusting as hard as I could with my hips. It wasn’t much but it caught him off guard, causing him to rise slightly which gave me a little room to manoeuvre. I tried kneeing him repeatedly in the groin, but my positioning was wrong. They hit, but weren’t effective. I grabbed hold of his jacket collar as another punch smacked into my face.

  Pulling hard on his collar with one hand, I swung a palm heel upwards into the bottom line of his jaw at the same time. I felt his teeth crunch together and something snap. He fell sideways allowing me to break free. As soon as my legs were free I kicked out backwards, my foot smashing into his rib cage.

  I could just about see the handgun ten yards away, caught in the corner of the wall and a plinth for a bronze bust. I scrambled for it, hoping to level out the odds a little. My left eye was completely closed and sweat and blood stung my other.

  Any thoughts of evening the odds went straight out the window before I even got near the handgun. Two more gunmen and General Rourke rounded the corner from the stairwell, heading my way. I could just about make them out.

  “So you chose the hard way?” Rourke shouted. “You have been one mega fucking pain in the arse, talk about messy.”

  The guy who I had just fought with kicked me as I tried to get up.

  “Dat’s for breakin' my jaw you fuck!” he grunted as he kicked.

  I dropped to the floor again. I hurt. I was beat.

  “Why?” I spat out, dark red blood splattered on the floor.

  I heard the squeak of his shoes this time as he tried to kick me again. As he kicked I slammed my foot into the path of his leg, the blade of my foot connecting with all the might of his own kick, he grunted as my shoe cut into his shin, but before he could recover I shifted my position and kicked him again just under his rib cage. He staggered backwards into the marble balustrade and almost toppled over the top.

  He reached behind and withdrew his combat knife.

  General Rourke raised a hand to stop what was going to be a bloody reprisal.

  “You want to know why? Because of what you know. Because of who you might tell. Because you fucking embarrassed me and my men.”

  “But why am I such a threat?”

  “You seriously need to ask. Money! Have you got any idea how many billions would have been wiped off the share values of the oil and gas industries overnight if your stunt today was allowed to become public knowledge?” Rourke said as he knelt down next to me.

  “It already has. It’s gone public.”

  “No, no it hasn't. There’s what's called a DA notice running as well as a super-injunction and everyone at your vain attempt at disclosure is contained and will be issued NDA’s immediately,” Rourke said. “We’ll bury this technology with all the others. It’s amazing what you can do in the name of national security. Now pick up the gun, that is what you were going for.”

  “What?”

  “Pick up the fucking gun,” Rourke ordered again. “Go on, it’s your chance. Pick it up!”

  It was within reach and was probably already loaded and cocked, but would be my death warrant the instant I touched it. Not any chance at all with four armed men bearing down on me. I didn’t move.

  “Oh what the fuck, who cares,” General Rourke stood and pointed his handgun at my head, the tip of the suppressor only inches from my forehead.

  I closed my eyes and tried to visualise Becs' face.

  ~~~

  Inspector Reynolds followed the team of four SCO19 Specialist Firearms Officers up the stairs.

  A single gunman at the top reluctantly surrendered, putting down his handgun, stepping back and kneeling down with his hands on his head. He knew the drill.

  The General was poised over Bateman — it seemed they were just in time.

  “That’s enough General!” Inspector Reynolds shouted.

  General Rourke’s men instantly turned their guns on the advancing Armed Police Response. It was obvious they were outgunned, their Glock handguns against the far superior HK MP5a sub machine guns SCO19 used. But until ordered otherwise they were in a stand-off.

  The General lowered his gun and turned to face Inspector Reynolds. The difference in height and stature was large. Rourke towered over Reynolds, but the Inspector did not appear to be intimidated.

  “You didn’t think you could get away with shooting one of my officers did you General, or with what you were about to do my prisoner and have done already?” Inspector Reynolds said.

  “You are way out of line Inspector. This is our jurisdiction not yours. You really must stand down.”

  “Oh I don’t think so General, not with the evidence that has been presented in the last twenty-four hours. Evidence that suggests your involvement is a lot deeper and more sinister than we first thought.”

  “It really doesn’t matter what you think Inspector. And any case against me you think you have, won’t go anywhere. I guarantee it. Here.” Rourke reached into his black sports jacket and withdrew a letter which he handed to Reynolds. “You can’t arrest me or my men and I really don’t think you’re willing to shoot anyone. We’re going to be leaving here now. I suggest you stand aside,” he said as he gestured at his men who lowered their guns and began to back out. “You! Get up!” Rourke ordered me and grabbed my jacket.

  “Not with my prisoner you don't General. You may have COBRA protection, but you will still have to go through the right official and legal channels if you want Bateman.” Reynolds grabbed the General’s wrist, stopping him from dragging me to my feet. The General let go of me, at the same time breaking the Inspector’s grip and shoving him backwards.

  “Sir?” questioned one of the Firearms officers, who was now aiming his MP5 at the General, but in turn had Rourke's men aiming at him.

  “Stand down officer,” Reynolds said his voice filled with resignation and then to Rourke, “This isn’t over General.”

  “Yes Inspector, yes it is,” General Rourke turned and began backing out.

  “No!” I shouted spluttering blood as I watched General Rourke and his men start to walk away. I had been on
the brink of losing my life again and the perpetrators caught red handed, but now they were walking? Despite all the evidence that was mounting, it appeared that his own high profile connections were now protecting him. The man responsible for the vicious murders of my friends and family, responsible for hunting us down like terrorists, was walking free.

  “No!” I shouted again as I stood up and realised at that point that I had picked up the handgun and was aiming it at the General, “No. You’re not walking away from this you murdering piece of shit!”

  The sound of guns being raised and aimed was quite extraordinary when synchronised. As I aimed at Rourke so each of his men responded instantly and suddenly there were at least three guns aimed at me. The four Firearms officers instantly raising their guns at Rourke’s men.

  I didn’t care what was happening, I didn’t care who was aiming at who. “You terrorise and murder my family and friends and think you can get away with it. Fuck!”

  “Daniel, Daniel, it’s okay. Give me the gun please,” Reynolds told me calmly.

  “Evidence says otherwise and firmly puts you in the frame. That’s why you’re wanted for murder,” Rourke said turning round to look down the barrel of the gun.

  “Daniel, don’t do this, give me the gun please,” Reynolds held out his hand.

  “He’s guilty and you’re letting him walk. No! It’s wrong, he can’t do that,” I said ignoring his hand.

  The General looked past the gun and into my eyes. “Unfortunately in this ugly world we live in, people like me have to do things that would disgust the general public if they were to find out. But it takes people like me to do these things that keep our country safe.”

  “But you’re a murdering bastard.”

  “No, I’m a fighting soldier, doing my duty to Queen and country.”

  “Bollocks!”

  Inspector Reynolds remained focused on me. “Daniel please, you have got to back down. Please give me the gun. Everyone please lower your weapons,” he said trying to take control.