‘Bastard. I am not done yet!’
Fibres from his clothing were wrapped around the base of the round, showing that the ricochet had turned it in flight and hit him base-first. In a hunting accident it would have been a plausible defence to recklessness, in a quiet street in London it was murder, at best an attempt.
McGee got alongside her partner and knew even in the dismal orange street lighting that he was badly injured. His face spoke volumes. White, almost green, clammy, yet calm. He slumped down, onto his knee, then turned, tried to fire again, then dropped his weapon and tried to smile instead, tried to say something.
McGee ripped the phone from her pocket and dialled a number. It connected.
“Yes. Now!”
She pulled the belt through the loops of her trousers, wrapped it around his leg, pulled it as tight as she could, thought about ramming her fingers into the wound, but didn’t know where to start. She pulled him towards her and kept his head down, legs raised. Was this right?
Where were those bloody paramedics?
“Nick. It’s going to be OK. Promise. Just keep talking, mate.”
He had a vacant smile and was moving his lips, trying to do as she asked.
“Mate…” It sounded good.
Then a word or two, no more. Neither made sense.
She leaned in. “It’s OK, just rest.”
“Don’t tell them…”
“What?”
“That I pissed myself…”
She laughed. It was the other aspect about her that he adored. A playful, deeply attractive laugh. She wiped the blood from her hands, from the index finger, settled it over the secure locking system, waited an eternity for the system to register, then dialled again. Five minutes.
This couldn’t wait. She dragged him by the feet, back along the shadows, away from the streetlights, running backwards as fast as she could. A shot was fired. It was all Kato the jet black dog needed. Darker than the night, the only thing that betrayed his presence was his impressive set of teeth, jewels of blisteringly white enamel, soon to be laced with highly oxygenated blood.
His bottom jaw ripped into the right arm of the first shooter, locked down with its upper cousin, and then tore the sinew and tendons and ligaments from their natural places, never to be useful again. McGee heard the scream, knew what had caused it and felt not an ounce of pity. Bite the bastard again. She heard the screams of male voices too…Armed Police! Repeated, fast, dominant. A bean bag round hit one of the offenders in the chest, knocking him down. The dog did the rest. The handler left him in place for a second or two longer than he should. Call it a slight bending of the rules, call it karma.
DS McGee got Fisher to the van, ripped open the door, dragged him inside, leaving a darkening red trail along the pavement and up into the back of their surveillance post. He let out a deep sigh – a noise that she would remember forever.
“No, Nick. Not this way. Do you hear me?” She yelled at him, lifted his head up to hers, shouted into his face, pleaded. He was getting heavier. Sirens sounded, more blue lights, flickering, dancing, ricocheting too, along the road and into the cabin of the van, lighting them both up. Her face blue, then white, his just white.
She ripped open the material on his trousers, found the wound. It was a mass of darkened red, wet, a congealing gel of life-providing fluid. She spoke again, but there was no reply.
He was gone. And she knew it and she never had chance to say the three words he wanted to hear. She leaned down, all too late, and whispered them, held him, then started to shake involuntarily as he bled no more. His eyes stared back at hers. She willed the eyelids to move, to blink, for his chest to rise.
Cade, Roberts and Daniel walked the ground fifteen minutes later. Three dead, one injured, a van had been stopped by another armed unit ten minutes away from the vault. The van had nothing of value on board. The burglary team were experienced – they said – and had given up before they had really started. They felt that they had become victims too. Ten years in a local Category A prison should give them time to reflect.
“It just got really shitty Jack.” Roberts was professionally inconsolable. “It just got really, very shitty.” He kicked a Coke can down the street, watched it spin to a stop, next to a drain. Then it was silent again.
As pretty as McGee was, the bloody streaks across her face did nothing for her appearance, told their own story. She was leaning against a wall, not wishing to talk to anyone, regardless of rank. Then, out of the blue, she lifted her head and began to speak. Her soft and gentle northern tones were broken with emotion, but she managed to say what she needed to say.
“You know Nick had a theory? About what their plan was. I told him it was a load of bollocks, but he was pretty insistent. God love the man, the least we can do is listen now.” A tear welled up on her right eyelid, balanced, defying nature before eventually bursting its banks. It was the tear, the one solitary human reaction that stopped Cade in his tracks.
“Bridie. Excuse me for a moment. John, Jason, over here.”
They re-grouped. “He was right. JD, you know something and I think it’s about time you cut us into this too. None of the need to know bullshit or I’ll become really unpleasant. Feral, the Home Secretary said. Remember?”
“I do.” He looked around, checked no one was listening.
“He plans to flood London. Every single one and every bloody thing.”
Both men looked back at him. It wasn’t possible.
“What? Not possible, JD.” Roberts was confident. “Not in a million of our lifetimes.”
“Remember our walk along the Embankment the other morning?”
“The one where you are adamant the police minister and his protection officer gave you a good kicking?”
“The same. Remember the lion’s heads? They are our benchmark, Jason. If the water reaches them we are in serious trouble.”
“But we’ve got the barrier?” Cade was also confident. “It cost half a billion quid. Tell me it’s up the bloody job?”
“Normally, yes.”
“I’m not liking this JD. Talk to me.” Roberts was becoming anxious, angry, had a feeling that his high-level briefing had missed something out.
“Operation Griffin was raised to another level yesterday.” He grimaced as he favoured his ribcage, still raw from the repeated kicks.
“Intelligence indicates that Alex has the key to unlocking London. There’s a king tide coming boys and with no barrier in place we go under.”
“How? Why? What?” Roberts.
“No idea. Money. Not sure.” Cade.
“Someone has hacked the mainframe. Not money, power.” Daniel.
“Now what.” Roberts.
“Now we cash in all of our favours, around Europe, internationally if we need to. And we deploy a few expendable and hugely deniable resources.”
“Anyone in mind, John?” Cade was staring straight at him, demanding an answer.
“Us. Scott McCall – no one even knows he’s here. Alex’s brother. His daughter. There’s enough cheese to fill ten traps.”
“And what if he doesn’t like cheese?”
“Then we find a dairy-free option, Jack. Either way, this stays as close-hold as possible. The government is very quietly soiling itself, if this gets out there will be a mass exodus, riots, then more riots in response to the response to the first riots, then looting in all the familiar places, then more riots. Get my drift here?”
“One hundred percent, John. Do you get mine?”
“I do. Jack, Jason, you need to work with me. This has been a long time in the making. Alex is not the kingmaker here. He’s a knight, or a rook, at best. He’s been allowed to gravitate towards a persona of super-criminal. We’ve lured him in, he’s played with our hearts and our minds, but he’s as big a puppet as we are.”
“So with the documents referring to our withdrawal from Europe, the abolition of the monarchy and now the bonus of eight-and-a-half million people getting their fee
t wet…”
“Gents. This remains a secret. Those in the Orion team and those aging dinosaurs like me from Griffin – and that includes the current ministers and former ones who swore a deathbed allegiance – it stays in-house. Anyone who chooses to walk or talk will end up in custody or dead.”
“That serious?” Roberts.
“That serious. And some. The tide is due in two days. We won’t be sleeping much between now and whenever.”
“Surely we just man the barrier, move into the control room, armed to the teeth, shut it down?”
“Normally I’d agree Jason. But our intelligence tells us otherwise. They’ve got eyes on, possibly even people inside. We get this wrong we all suffer. This is unprecedented, and it’s going to take some blue-sky thinking to get this back on a level playing field.”
“I wish I was playing management bingo I’d have a full house with that sentence.” Cade feigned a smile. He checked his phone. No messages. No texts.
“JD. One question that has been haunting me, possibly Jason too.”
“Fire away.”
“Why would the Honourable Minister of Police be strolling along the Embankment and throwing his weight around? It makes no sense.”
“Jack. It makes total sense, he’s up to his nuts in this. I trust him as far as you could kick him. What I can’t work out is why, or what, or how he stands to gain. Because if he isn’t gaining, then why is he pushing his weight around, threatening people. And why did Blake give us that little high-speed briefing in the lift?” He made sense.
“Yep. It’s been bothering me ever since. I get the impression he’s got something on the PM too, possibly even the Home Secretary.”
“Why do you say that?” Daniel knew the answer.
“Just a look I saw a while ago. Have they got something going on? Both single…call me old fashioned…”
“On the money, Jack. Blackmail?”
“In order to achieve what? Leadership? Money? Hell of a risk taking on the two most powerful members.”
“You forgot the Deputy PM.”
“Hardly. He’s got enough shadows and skeletons and career-limiting things hanging over him it’s just a matter of when he jumps. No, the link is Lane and Cole.” They left Jason Roberts to try to pick up the pieces as more of his team became scattered to the four winds.
Roberts walked over to McGee. “Bridie, we need to go my love, need to let these folk do their jobs.” He gestured to the medics and police backup teams that had arrived. “I’m sorry about Nick. He’s a star. He won’t die in vain. I won’t allow it.” It was heartfelt.
“Too late, governor. He already did. Tell me I’m still on the squad?” She rubbed the blood between her palms, watching the dried flakes flutter to the ground. It was all she had left of him now. “Don’t stand me down, sir.”
“If that’s your wish. Get back to base and clean up. Between us, and I mean between you and me, things are about to get pretty hairy. Sleep, eat, but be prepared.”
Less than three miles away Romulus logged back into the secure server and sent a simple message. 7:23:48.
Two days. Be ready. Thirty seconds later he received the reply.
Hewett turned in his office chair, smiled his usual confident smile and greeted the Home Secretary as he hit control, alt and delete, locking the screen.
“Ma’am, forgive me if I don’t stand. Got to keep an eye in this bloody thing every second from here on in.” He pointed to the desktop screen.
“Everything in place?”
“If you mean are we potentially going to witness mass flooding, looting, murder, mayhem and increased insurance premiums? Then yes, possibly. But between you and me, I’m happy the team can deal with this. Just keep them all on their toes. We will come out of this stinking of roses.”
“What’s in it for you, Johnnie?” Everyone had an agenda.
“Reputation. Nothing more. I’ve got money again, dabbled here, lost some there. Reputation, both mine and that of my family. This whole Griffin thing goes back to my parent’s days you know, can you believe they’ve been planning this for so long?”
“An independent Britain?”
“That, and a country that is led by power brokers, bereft of any shame, or morals.”
“You’ve done a few things you can’t exactly be proud of Johnnie.”
“Abso-bloody-lutely, but it was all for a great cause. Mother England and all that.”
“We meet in twenty-four hours. The last briefing before D Day. I pray this works.”
“You’ve entrusted your police minister himself to run this operation. What can go wrong?”
“That’s what worries me, and I think you know that already. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She walked out of Hewett’s office and into Blake’s.
“Michael around?”
His secretary approached. “Oh, hello Home Secretary. If you are looking for Michael, I’m sorry, but he’s not in yet. Most unusual, probably stuck in traffic.” She didn’t believe it either.
At The Orion HQ, Dave Francis was in grave danger of replacing alcohol with caffeine as an addictive commodity. He looked up through bloodshot eyes when he saw Cade.
“Boss. You look like you’ve lost a pound and found a penny.”
“Call it lack of sleep. I take it you and the team are up to speed? Everyone gainfully employed? Busy? I need everyone who isn’t, to be, and for at least the next forty-eight hours.”
“This might help. Carrie was trawling through some stuff on the dark net. It was a fractured message, we think from Romulus. It just says 7:23:48. She’s got her theories.” He looked at her, her own eyes as red-rimmed as his. “Want to explain?”
She shuffled across the floor, expertly stopping her typist chair next to Francis’.
“Morning Jack.” It was an upbeat effort, and he appreciated it. “It was a long night waiting for bugger all to happen. At least Elena and I got to know each other a little better.”
Cade smiled.
“Not that way, you filthy old sod. Anyway, you pay me an appalling wage to be your lead analyst, however bitterness aside, here’s my theory. Strap yourself in as it’s a bit of a wild idea – you’ll either thank me or have me sectioned under the Mental Health Act.”
The red-tinged blue eyes of the former career cop scanned the nearby percolator. He poured a dark, over-brewed mug of coffee and leaned on the back of her chair, imperceptibly squeezing her arm. “Hit me with it, you bat-shit crazy thing you.” It raised an equally subtle smile from Francis.
“I’ve run the sensible ideas and their not so sensible cousins – let’s call them the stupid relations. It’s a time? Maybe this time tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. It could be a date of birth. Or, using my infinite wisdom, it could be from the bible. Genesis Seven. It’s the part that talks about Noah and the ark.”
“Yep. You’ve got it pretty much covered off Carrie.” He sipped as she stared incredulously.
“You know about this?” Her look was a composite of anger and shock.
“You know about this?” Her voice was raised now, it reminded him of the first time he had ever met her, well, to be accurate, heard her, prodding an eminent detective chief inspector or some other rank of great enormity in the chest and accusing him of some bestial act against her.
Other members of the team were stopping their work, looking, failing to disguise their interest in the fact that O’Shea might be about to unleash one of her notorious outbursts.
“I knew. OK? A few of us do. But we weren’t convinced. The reference could have been all of your theories. And I needed you and the team to be busy doing your analytical stuff, but above all I needed someone else to come up with the same theory.”
Cade looked across the office, to the doorway where Daniel and Roberts were stood, holding a take-away coffee and munching through a bacon sandwich, eyebrows raised.
Daniel coughed, closed the door behind him and then whistled through his fingers. Everyone stopped. All of them, the
whole team.
“Team, and that includes you, Carrie, time to listen in and no questions until the end. The briefing you had a few days ago was top secret. This one goes beyond that.” He spoke, they listened. They made calls to their loved ones – brief, ambiguous, and as informative as ‘I’ll be home when I’m home’ could be.
“Repeat that to anyone beyond these walls without the blessing of the bosses, the Home Secretary or the PM himself and you will find yourselves serving piss-poor coffee to your fellow, pasty-skinned inmates at Belmarsh Prison until the sun finally goes down on your scabies-laden five by five prison lifestyle. Any questions? Good. We go live now and we remain so until told otherwise.”
He swept the room. They were all already exhausted, but they were good people, what the job called smart operators. Every man and woman of them.
In Roberts’ office, four people finished off plans on a whiteboard. Then briefed the fifth, who had arrived with neither pomp nor ceremony. In fact, all were so shattered none of the four even stood.
When police commissioners didn’t care about protocols nor had any questions, it was reasonable to assume that the team had done a first-class job. He thanked them, asked to be kept in touch at all hours, and they assured him that yes, they would.
“Be under no illusion at all on that score – day or night.” He had said as he rushed to his next meeting, head down, reading the briefing notes, slipping brown leather gloves onto young hands as he prepared to engage with the worsening winter weather. Career-wise, he’d done well to get so far in such a short time. The next few days would outline his future reputation.
Live by the sword. Die by the keyboard.
Part Six
And every living substance was destroyed which was upon the face of the ground, both man, and cattle, and the creeping things, and the fowl of the heaven.
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 54