Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3)
Page 63
“I am the best for this. Not you. And not you.” She looked at O’Shea pointedly, “I am not being bad Carrie, I know how to look after myself. You don’t.”
“Look lady, if you want to get killed that’s fine by me. You saved my skin once and I am grateful, but I can’t save yours, I am not skilled like you. But I do know how to work things out. And from where I sit, there’s only one solution here.”
“And what is that, Carrie?” Petrova was looking forward to her answer.
“Open the gates. Completely. The water is not as bad as they said it would be. Now is the time. We need to do it. Jack?”
“Carrie, it makes no sense. That river is like a torrent. If we get this wrong London will be inundated. No, we can’t take that risk on behalf of a million people.”
Francis was listening. He’d walked up to the next pier and back.
“Guys, I hate to say this, but I think someone has already made the decision.”
Constantin ran for his life, the case under his arm. Blood flowed from the wound and he knew he needed some form of intervention – soon. Alex had told him what to do, to the second.
‘I will escape. I will escape.’ He said it to himself over and over. He reached the point where the RIB tucked into the pier. He threw the case, which floated in the wind, then dropped, hitting the boat before falling into the river. It floated, it could wait.
Constantin leapt into the water, hitting the surface, then disappearing beneath. He saw his mother. Holding him down once more. No, not again. He pushed, ripped her hands from his arms, twisted and turned, fought against the tide, against his own lungs that screamed for air. Then he emerged, panicked, drawing air and water into his mouth, swam, dipped beneath the surface, swam again, drifted, losing his battle.
The RIB driver was alongside him, a strong hand dropped down to him. “Come on, we need to go.”
He hauled the older man onto the side where he was able to grab at a black rope, then went back to the controls and accelerated, dragging the Romanian along in the bitterly cold water, leaving him to climb in.
Was it all really worth it? He wished he had died in a heroin-fuelled haze under that whore in Germany all those years ago.
“What about Alex?” He yelled into the squall.
The driver shouted back. “You are not Alex?”
“No. He’s back there. We need to go back.”
The driver spotted the Pelican case drifting into an eddy where it span like a fairground ride. He needed to get that before he did anything else. He made the decision – it was the case or nothing.
Turning the boat against the flow, he let it drift, bounding on waves that rarely formed on the inland waterway. “Grab it when I say!”
“I need to get in the boat, slow down, I will die in here.”
“Grab the bloody case first.”
“No. get me in.”
“Nu-mi spune ce să fac!”
He understood the language immediately. ‘Do not tell me what to do!’
Who was this man, this British police officer that spoke his language? It wasn’t the river that made him shudder. And he now felt colder than he ever had when thrown into a wintery cell in his homeland, or made to stand outside in the rain by his mother, or here in the city of London, hiding in the shadows.
The driver grabbed at the Pelican but it jinked and moved and rode the wave. The RIB was bigger than it looked. He shouted again.
“Get the case! Last chance.”
He turned, then powered forward, Constantin reached as far as he could, felt the handle on his numb fingertips and started dragging it through the water. They were fighting the tug of the tide and the cacophony of the flood water that battered them, and the dark that had descended upon the water. But he had the case.
“It’s dark, Elena. We go on my signal. OK?” McCall was in charge. Paying his debt for the last time.
“I don’t like your plan.” She wanted to run the show. Cade shook his head.
McCall ran his tongue over his teeth, then spoke. “I’m sorry, miss. Truly.” He began to walk towards the door.
She stopped him. Put an arm across his path.
“Wait!”
He gave her a searching look.
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
“I have no idea what you mean, miss. Now, if you don’t mind…”
“It’s you. Jack, it’s him. The man who got into the Porsche with me. This is him. This is him. The voice…” She was almost crying, her voice packed full of emotion.
On that bend, lying on her side, her life ebbing – and then he came from the sky, administered drugs, spoke to her, held her just long enough. A guardian. That voice, she would know it anywhere.
“Yes, miss, it was me. Now, please, can we go and do what we came to do?”
“OK. But we meet later, yes?”
Hewett was getting bored. This was not how he worked. He left his car, shuffled a few paces, pulled his coat up around his ears and tucked into a doorway. He could hear the music from half a street away.
McGee could hear it too. It sounded like opera, or an anthem. She decided to let him enjoy the end of the track. She tucked back into the shadows.
Hewett knew she was there – and hoped she kept out of his way.
Chapter 63
Alex had three rounds left. He was cold, soaked and alone. For him, it was just another night in Pazardzhik Prison. This is how he would survive. Using the memory of the place, the hellhole that was his living grave.
He strained his eyes to see. They had to be coming soon. And he needed to leave sooner.
And then the gate began to move. The enormous yellow arms hissed and sighed, pressure in, pressure out, gleaming stainless pistons releasing their grip. He was descending, it was subtle, but for the noise.
Down into the river. Down where he had condemned his wife to die.
Constantin would return for him. He was family. Blood was thicker than water, they said. His brother Stefan would be here soon too. He had played his part like a Shakespearean actor, plausible to the end. Blood is thicker than water. Where were they?
The gate was dropping now and with it his chance of escape. He edged to the opening, looked through the bars. He could see down into the maelstrom, water everywhere, brown aerated froth was floating on the wind, blowing everywhere. He had never seen anything like it. He had to leave.
He started to climb up, pulling himself out of the steel coffin.
She ran towards him, McCall a second behind. The gate was dropping, slowly, but down it went. She slid across the concrete and grabbed the bars. Alex fell backwards and into the void. She followed.
Now they were both trapped. In a dark space, and about to be submerged. McCall was powerless to help. He turned and saw the others. Cade was walking towards him. “Now what?”
“You mentioned manual operations?”
“I did.” Brilliant.
“Dave, Carrie, go and start winding that bloody thing back up.”
“What do you want me to do?” McCall looked powerless.
“How accurate is that thing from this distance?” He pointed to the RIB.
“The RIB? Possible.”
“No, the case.”
“Impossible.”
“Then the RIB it is.”
McCall leant against the railings, created a strong platform and fired. The first round hit the RIB, drilled a hole through it. The second too, but nearer to the waterline. The third and fourth hit the driver. The boat was now uncontrolled and drifting.
“Shot, sir. Now go and help them wind those two back up again. And when they arrive, shoot him first. The girl is all yours. I think she has a thing for knights on white chargers.”
Constantin was clinging to the side, frantically trying to pull himself into the boat. An errant wave flipped the RIB and pushed the Romanian up and into the main part. He was in. He got to the controls, worked out which bits made it work, then quietly accelerated towards the south bank.
Roberts and Daniel had arrived there too. A triangle of Orion staff – waiting. Each had a different agenda.
“Wait for the moment, Jason. You’ll know when it comes.”
Constantin tried to adjust his vision. He was limping but heading in the right direction, carrying the case towards the car. Two flickers from the headlights told him he was on target. Nothing to lose. A hundred steps, that’s all it was. He could hear the anthem. It stirred him. He picked up the pace, encouraging the blood to flow down his leg, mixing with the sodden material of his trousers and boots.
“Now!”
“Armed police. Put down your weapon. Get down on the ground. Do it! Do it now.” McGee was pushing forward, emerging into the light, nimble, up on her toes, coming to a halt, leaning forward slightly, into the shot.
Constantin raised an arm but gripped the case firmly with his other hand.
“Don’t shoot. I am unarmed!”
Halford felt for his own weapon. A weapon he shouldn’t have. He waited for his own moment.
Roberts had also made the challenge. Steadfastly moving into the light too. He looked across at McGee. “I’ll take it from here, sergeant.”
She kept her weapon up in the high ready position, glaring over the green dot straight at the hunched, bedraggled man.
“Bridie. Stand down.”
Halford chose the moment. He stepped out of his car, leant across the windscreen and fired.
Hewett moved, reacted to the shot, and fired back. No one had seen him, and for him the chance to finish off Halford was far too valuable to waste. He missed.
Constantin ran towards the Jaguar. Hewett pulled the trigger again. The second round hit its target and hit Constantin who responded without theatrics. He just dropped to the ground. Alive.
He crawled with the case.
Hewett emerged. “Minister. Put your weapon down or you will be shot. I will not ask again.”
Daniel looked at Roberts. Roberts looked at McGee. They all looked at Hewett. It took a second, a gaze that seemed to last a lifetime. A triangle of indecision.
Halford lowered his weapon. “I’m here on government business people. Lower your weapons. And I will not be asking you again, Hewett.” As Mexican standoffs went it was served with extra habaneros.
He moved forward and bent to pick up the case.
Hewett raised his weapon.
“Touch that and I will kill you. Minister or not.”
Halford stood up. “DCI Roberts, as the senior officer in charge, and as your police minister, I suggest you re-think your last statement and make the correct decision here.” Halford managed to smile.
Roberts looked at Daniel, handed him his gun, then walked towards Constantin who was very much alive, bleeding heavily, but alive and still gripping onto the case as if his life depended upon it.
Roberts looked down at him, winked, then stamped on his forearm. Then again, and once more for no other reason than he felt like it. He heard the bone begin to break. The scream that the man they had once called The Chemist let out was satisfaction enough for Roberts.
“Karma can be a really nasty bitch when she wants to be, eh?”
He lowered himself to the road, pushed the case away and cuffed his prisoner. It only felt like days since he had first done it. That sense of achievement – at taking someone off the streets – depriving them of their liberty – it had never left him. Twisting the arm behind the older man’s back and giving it an extra tug was probably pushing the limits a little. ‘Be feral gentlemen.’
So he pulled it again. “That’s for Cynthia.” And again. “And that’s for Steve Hall.” Then as he watched the radius poke through the skin, he twisted it once more. The bone gave way. “And that…is a gift from me for the time we met on the tube.” He let the pain signals fly around his body. “And I guess that makes us even.”
He looked up at Hewett. Then McGee. Made another decision.
“DS McGee, you need to walk away – in fact come and grab this case will you. That’s an order.” He locked eyes with her, knew she wanted to kill Halford, for like him she had long sensed that he was a one-man pain in the arse that considered himself untouchable.
She reached him, placed the case at Daniel’s feet and turned to walk away. She stopped, stepped half a pace to the right, then drove her foot into Constantin’s groin. It was a snap kick, fast and perfectly delivered. He screamed and buckled against the handcuffs, worsening the pain in his arm.
“And that is for Nick Fisher!”
Roberts did his best to look the other way, then spoke.
“I know all I need to know about you, Mr Halford. You are Teflon, but one day your past will catch up with you. And as a career police officer, I am bound by the rules and regulations. So, you live to fight another day.”
He then turned to look at Hewett.
“But you, sir, are not a police officer. You are not bound by the same rules as me. So, we are going now, some might say it’s over to you.”
If only he knew.
Roberts pulled Constantin up and onto his feet. He dragged them behind him like most belligerent prisoners do, but soon found momentum when the copper they affectionately called Ginger gave him a twist of encouragement.
McGee tucked in beside him clutching the case, her partner a pace to their right and Daniel brought up the rear. None of them looked back.
“Nice work, guv. And thanks.” They got around the corner to Roberts’ car when a single shot rang out, the sound of a bull whip, scattering birds into the air and across the river.
He nodded to John Daniel. “Our work here is done team. Nice one, Johnnie. We owe you a drink. Let’s go home.”
“What about Mr Cade?”
“Oh, Jack will be fine. He’s as happy as pig in shit when he’s drowning.” He thought for a second. “Actually, do me a favour. Go and lodge this bastard at a secure unit. We need to go back to Jack and his group so he can lock up the Gypsy King himself. It’s the least we can do.”
“Mr Roberts…” It was a weak voice, accented, but strongly defiant and coughing up blood-laced phlegm.
“What? I would have thought you would have zipped that cakehole my son. It had better be important. No cameras around here…”
“You have the wrong man…” He laughed. “The person you are looking for is back there, around that corner…not at the barrier, the one true Gypsy King.” He was tumbling on his words. Constantin smiled his own smile; fractured, bleeding and odorous. Then dropped his head and drifted into a blood-loss sleep.
Roberts looked at Daniel. “Make sense?”
“Absolutely. The problem now is, who is he talking about?”
“He means Hewett?” Roberts was as unsure as Daniel.
“No. He’s far too close. He means Halford?” It seemed unlikely as the other suggestion.
“Our very own police minister, John? No way. We know too much about him.”
“Do we? Really? I’m not so sure. He arrived on the scene late in the piece, a bright guy, right place, right time and all that. But a genuine arsehole that no one has a good word to say about. I’m just not sure.”
“I guess we’ll know in two.” Roberts drove, covered a short distance, then spun the car around and headed back to the wharf. When they got back to where the incident had taken place they saw the sight they dreaded. He was lying face down in the concrete, a smear of blood along the pavement where he had tried to drag himself to safety. The Jaguar had gone.
“We should have stayed JD…should have stayed.” Roberts punched the nearest wall.
“Now what?”
“Get rid of our prisoner and go hunting for a Minister?”
“Perhaps.”
Roberts lifted the head with his shoe, it was wet with blood, across the face, darkening the hair. The entry
wound was dark red, relatively small, the edges of the skin had lines emitting from the hole as if the skin had split under immense pressure. The blood stain was very evident, even under streetlamps, crimson against a light-coloured concrete backdrop.
He squatted beside the body, rolled it over, it gave up the fight and flopped onto its back, the face staring emptily at the sky. It looked like the last steak Roberts had prepared for the barbeque; cold, radiating blood and uncooked. He had been a vegetarian from that day onwards.
Then, among the raw and bloody exit wound, what was left of the left eye blinked. The body shuddered. Roberts encouraged it to speak.
“Go on, tell me.” The head shook. The other eye opened partially, then the lips started to create words.
“All is not…how it seems, Jason. Get to the bottom of this. Keep your friends close and all that…” It was clear he had minutes, less. It was what the police called a dying declaration. This was the time when a constable would write the speech straight into his pocket notebook and pray that the person making it could sign below.
The man that looked up at him. He had a cold face, a defeated ivory-coloured carapace that simply said ‘Tell my loved ones I asked about them.’
Another shudder. And more words. He was drawing the energy from somewhere.
“He did this to me. You never joined the dots did you?” He went quiet again. “Daniel…I apologise.” He snorted, a sort of laugh forcing the wound to bleed again.
“Not everything is as I was led to believe. I was told you were the enemy. Trust everyone, trust no one. He told me not to trust you. I shouldn’t have taken the law into my own hands that day down by the river. Should have got my people to do it. The thin blue line…The thin…blue…I shouldn’t. I just…wanted to do the right thing.”
Daniel leaned down, “Who? Who told you not to trust us?”
Constantin called out from the car.
“I told you. Didn’t I? The wrong man.” He started laughing, which took away some of his pain.
“Shut up!” Daniel was frustrated and angry. “Who? Why? I need to know,road, damn it.”