Bombmaker

by Claire McFall

  “And what do you do, Miss Middleton?”

  Much more polite now. I smiled.

  “I’m still at school.”

  “Which school?”

  “King’s Court College.”

  “I see.”

  He flipped the notebook closed.

  The conflicting thoughts were clear on his face. He didn’t believe me, I was fairly sure, but the story I’d fed him was making him think twice. If I really was who I claimed to be and he had accused me of being a Celt, he’d be in big, big trouble. I was quite sure little Tanya’s dad would be an important enough man to have him fired. Everyone in the street she lived in was somebody – somebody with their fingers in every pie, every government official’s pocket.

  “Well, Miss Middleton, I, er…” He shifted from foot to foot, deliberating. “I’d make sure you phone that restaurant just as soon as you get in. There are thieves about, you know.”

  “Thank you, officer,” I smiled sweetly.

  Then he stepped aside.

  The pavement was suddenly clear before us. I took one step, then another, half amazed, half convinced it was a trick and that his hand was going to clamp down on my upper arm and then laugh in my face. But he didn’t. Mark and I continued forward, only his grip on my hand stopping me from breaking out into a sprint. We strolled towards the corner, deliberately not looking back, then as soon as a wall hid our backs from Riley’s view, we erupted into hysterical laughter. The tears streamed down my face and I clutched at my ribs, trying to rub away the sudden stitch that gripped them. How had we got away with that? The abrupt relief of tension made me light-headed. We were still giggling as we collapsed into the flat.

  “Come here,” Mark said, grabbing my hand and dragging me to his bedroom. He dropped me on the bed then disappeared back across the hallway into the bathroom. When he returned he clutched the facecloth in his hand. Droplets of water cascaded down to splash silently on the varnished wooden floor.

  “What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously as he approached me.

  “Taking that stuff off your cheek,” he replied, his expression serious now.

  He sat beside me and started to rub my face gently.

  “But… why?” I couldn’t help asking.

  He smiled at me, a slow, genuine smile that made the muscles in my lower stomach contract.

  “Because you’re prettier without it,” he said.

  His hand on my cheek, Mark leaned in to kiss me. I held completely still, my breath caught in my throat. This was totally different from Alexander. I knew that at any time I could pull back, at any time I could say stop. He was going to kiss me because he wanted to, and I only had to kiss him back because I wanted to. Normality to most people: completely new to me. And empowering. I considered stopping him, just because I could, but I didn’t. Because I wanted to feel if his lips were as soft as I thought they’d be; I wanted to have him slide his hand into my short hair, wanted to feel his breath mingling with mine.

  Our lips touched just as the sharp drone of the buzzer cut through the air. Mark pulled back and paused, his mouth just millimetres from mine.

  “Ignore it,” I implored.

  He didn’t take much persuading. He grinned briefly, then pressed his lips against mine once more. They were warm, tender, pliable. They teased mine, gently opening my mouth so that his tongue could slide inside. My fingers knotted themselves into the front of his shirt, trying to pull him closer to me. Two arms wound around my shoulders, squeezing me, holding me together.

  We both jumped as an invisible hand pounded at the door. Five loud thumps shook and rattled the frame; impatient, angry.

  We jerked apart and I stared up at Mark, my eyes widening.

  “Oh God,” I whispered. “Do you think that GE officer followed us?”

  Mark shrugged even as his arms tightened around me. Before he could answer, a second hammering filled the air.

  “Ignore it.” Mark hushed.

  Before I had time to open my mouth, the banging started again.

  We stared at each other, waiting. There was a brief lull, then more banging, louder and faster.

  Mark pummelled his pillow in frustration then pushed back off the bed. He stood and looked down at me, his eyes narrowing as the knocking continued in the background. Suddenly his expression changed, he was more wary than annoyed. “Stay here,” he ordered, sounding much more like Alexander or Samuel than the happy-go-lucky Mark I was beginning to get to know.

  I nodded and drew my knees up to my chest, winding my arms around them. Maybe it was nothing. I hoped whoever it was would go away quickly. I wanted Mark to kiss me again. I wanted that fuzzy warmth that was so different from the cocktail of fear and excitement that gripped me whenever Alexander touched me.

  Mark pulled the door to the bedroom almost fully closed as he strolled to the door, readjusting his T-shirt and running his hands over his hair, trying to right the tangled mess I’d created. He stopped to latch on the security chain before opening the door a crack.

  “Yes?” I heard him ask tersely.

  The response was too low for me to make out, but through the slither of open doorway I saw Mark’s face drop in horror and my stomach seemed to plummet through all three floors of the building, right into the basement. I uncoiled from the bed, my body ready to roll upright, to go to his aid, just as Mark tried to slam the door closed. Whoever it was must have had their foot barring the way, however, because the door bounced back towards Mark, halting inches from his face as the chain stretched taut.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Mark yelled.

  Then it exploded inwards. The chain ripped loose from the doorframe and the edge of the door caught Mark on the chin, sending him tumbling backwards. I froze, hardly daring to breathe.

  “Mark?” I mouthed, but there wasn’t enough volume in my voice for the word to leave the room.

  I tried to move, to get up, to help him, but my muscles had gone into lock down. I could do nothing but watch as Mark gathered himself, hanging onto the wall then pushing off to try once more to close the front door. He only made it a step, however, before some invisible force smashed into his head, kicking it backwards and taking his feet out from under him. The crash his body made as it hit the ground wiped out the gentle pop that preceded it, but in my head the noise reverberated, echoing long after Mark lay still. I knew that sound. God help me, I knew that sound.

  My eyes widened as I saw an arm enter the room. With its hand firmly coiled around a shiny, black gun, the barrel unnaturally long. Alexander didn’t like to shout, and he didn’t like the thundering crack of gunshots. But he did like his gun. The silencer was his idea of a compromise.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “Elizabeth?” I heard his voice before I saw his face, but then he glided into view. But only in profile. He stared dead ahead, into the lounge, so I was spared the hypnotic danger of his eyes. “Elizabeth, I know you’re in here. Come out. Now.”

  Quiet. Soothing. Almost melodic.

  And the most terrifying sound in my world.

  I tried to keep control of my breathing, knowing he would hear if I gave in to the desire to gasp and whimper. If he continued forward, maybe I could sneak past, escape onto the stairwell and then just run for it.

  But he was much too smart for that. Alexander lingered in the hall, pushing at the living room door, letting it swing open to reveal the empty room. Then he turned, preparing to give the kitchen the same treatment. In the handkerchief-sized hall, he didn’t need to leave the door – the only exit – and he could quite easily check the whole flat. Here, with no witnesses and the silencer to cushion the noise, he wouldn’t need to hesitate before he shot me.

  I didn’t want to die.

  Slowly, silently, I began edging backwards, feeling my way around the bed, trying to make my way to the window without taking my eyes off Alexander. The angle of the door was unkind, however, and as soon as I’d taken two steps to the side I lost him. Instead,
I saw Mark. He was motionless on the floor, head turned to me, eyes wide open. A hole had been gouged into his forehead. I stared at him, appalled. Mark, poor Mark. Dead, gone. Because of me. A sob would have burst its way out of my chest but I clamped my mouth shut tight enough to send pain ratcheting through my jaw.

  If I left him here, how long would it be before someone discovered his lifeless body? Or would he just disappear? Alexander was good at making that happen. I pictured Mark’s parents, waiting by a phone, hoping for a call that would never come.

  “Don’t hide from me, Elizabeth,” Alexander sang.

  His voice jolted me from my thoughts. I had to go, no matter how much the thought of abandoning Mark burned in my gut. Turning my back on the scene in the hallway, I pushed open the sash window, relieved when it slid up without a sound, and threw myself out through the tiny opening. I didn’t look down. Mark’s flat was two stories up.

  Instead I closed my eyes and reached to my left, grabbing hold of the downpipe whilst my feet scrabbled for purchase against the vertical wall.

  The iron piping was rusted and dirty and rough, scraping the skin off my palms and gouging out a chunk of flesh between two of my fingers. I held on, though, using the drainpipe to hold myself close to the wall as my feet scuttled under me, trying to slow my descent to the ground. But I couldn’t compete with gravity. When my boots slammed into the gravel and weeds clogging up the tiny rectangle of outside space behind Mark’s block of flats, the shock shot straight up through my ankles, into my knees. The pain drove the breath from my lungs, forced me down into a crouch. To stop myself crying out, I bit down on my lip so hard that I drew blood. I tasted it in my mouth, metallic and warm.

  Instinctively I looked up, but it was impossible to tell from here which of the many windows I’d made my escape from. I knew if I lingered, eventually I would see Alexander’s angry face glowering down at me; it didn’t seem smart to wait for that.

  I half ran, half hobbled along the alleyway between the two high blocks of terraced buildings, wincing every step. My ankle hurt badly enough to be broken, but I told myself it was just a sprain. Either way, I couldn’t afford to stop. Not unless I wanted to end up like Mark; poor, innocent Mark. I suppressed another sob. Now wasn’t the time to grieve for him. Now was the time to survive. I took the tears and shoved them deep down, burying them until I could breathe again.

  At the end of the alley I had a choice to make: head left into nowhere, or right into nowhere. I dithered for a few precious seconds, then went left, choosing on nothing more substantial than that it was downhill and I was hurting. As I walked I flipped my hood up and over my head, pulling one side forward to conceal my tattoo. The pavements were empty, though rush hour traffic clogged the road. I shoved my fingers into my jacket pocket, doing a quick inventory. I had a handful of coins, half a pack of mints and the key to Mark’s flat, a place I knew I’d never go back to.

  And a mobile.

  I pulled out the little phone and stared at it for a full minute, letting my feet find their own path. Then I stuffed it back in my pocket.

  I looked around, paranoid. There was no sign of anyone behind me, except for a couple of old ladies, and I was fairly certain they were not working for a Welsh gangster. The cars that drove past, too, were innocuous, maintaining a constant speed, the drivers not giving me a glance as they passed by. Nobody peeked out from behind a curtain, phone in hand. But I was nervous. I knew Alexander wouldn’t chase me down and shoot me in the street; that wasn’t his style. But I also knew that he’d cut his nose off before he’d let me get away. He’d be watching me, waiting, biding his time.

  I just had to make sure I saw him before he saw me.

  Trying to remain calm, trying not to think about what I’d just seen, I picked up the pace. I memorised all the street signs that I passed, but I’d no idea where I was, or which way I was heading. The buses that drove past had destinations that I’d never heard of written in block capitals across the front. I was tempted to get on one, any one, but it would only take an overzealous bus driver to clock my cheek and radio in for a GE patrol. So instead I kept on walking, letting block after block pass me by.

  All the while I was fighting to concentrate, fighting to stay here, in the now. My mind was desperate to rewind the minutes, to drag me back to Mark’s flat and force me to relive what had happened, over and over again. He was dead. Mark was dead. A single bullet to the head. Alexander’s hand. My fault. All because he’d been foolish enough to try to chat up a schoolgirl on the train. A heavy price for an innocent act.

  I’m sorry Mark. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.

  My face closed in on itself as the first tears started to shimmer in my eyes, blurring the world around me, letting a blue car sneak past then jam on its brakes without my seeing. I heard the sound of tyres twisting in a tight circle, but I didn’t process the noise. Seconds later it ghosted up alongside me.

  “Hello, Elizabeth.”

  My heart stopped, but my feet kept walking. I refused to look at him, burning a hole into the pavement instead.

  “Where are you going?”

  His voice was soft, inquisitive. Almost polite. Terrifying. My stomach flipped, but I kept the fear from my face.

  “Can I offer you a lift?”

  He wasn’t asking. It was an order: get in the car.

  But if I got in the car, I was dead.

  Still refusing to look at him, I shook my head.

  “I’ve been looking for you, Elizabeth. You had me worried. It’s lucky Zane saw you. But,” his voice chilled, “I had to call on one of my GE contacts to find that boy’s flat. I’m not happy about that, sweetheart.”

  The car crawled along, keeping the driver’s window just level with my shoulder. The road was long and straight, double yellow lines painting a path for him to follow me.

  “You’re not upset about what I had to do to him, are you?” he sounded almost amused. My stomach clenched. “I warned you. I warned you what would happen if you got involved with another man. You should have listened to me, Elizabeth. Now get in the car.”

  At last his anger broke through the veneer of patience, edging the final command with steel.

  I ignored him.

  The car revved, pushing forward for a moment so that his face glided into my peripheral vision. I resisted the urge to turn my head away, but I could feel his gaze burning into me. His jaw was set, eyebrows furrowed menacingly.

  “I will shoot you right here. You think any of these people are going to stop me? Call the police?”

  No, of course they weren’t. They were too smart for that. Selective blindness was the first survival tactic parents taught their children these days.

  “Lizzie, get in the car.”

  He spat each word at me, so angry he even shortened my name. Last chance. Do it or die. Do it and die later.

  I stopped walking, turned to look at him. Alexander’s dark green eyes were hypnotic. His face broke into a smile that was both dazzling and petrifying, an angel-demon.

  “Good girl,” he crooned.

  But I didn’t get in the car.

  I ran. Across the road and down the next, winding in between cars, twisting round pedestrians. Behind me I heard the squeal of tyres – Alexander’s roar of rage. The car accelerated, but I was always one step ahead. I flew through a junction snarled up with traffic; cars all waiting patiently on a red light, pinning him back behind a white van and a rusting Landrover. He slammed his hand on the horn, but the vehicles had nowhere to go. Ahead of them traffic slowly crossed the junction at right angles. Pressing my advantage, I threw myself between them, causing someone – I didn’t pause to see the vehicle – to slam on their brakes to avoid breaking both my legs.

  Across the junction, I flat-out sprinted, ignoring the agonising protests from my knees and ankles, and zigzagged my way down several blocks, losing myself, trying desperately to lose Alexander. I ran and ran, too frightened of what I’d see to look backwards. People walking hurried t
o move out of my way as I bolted past them. They stared, shocked and wary, but if they managed to catch a glimpse of my now naked cheek as I hurtled by, I was long gone by the time they processed what was wrong with the picture.

  I didn’t stop until I hit the river.

  It was one of the most familiar things in my world, certainly more familiar than any of the streets around me, but it shocked me to a halt. It was a barrier, wide and uncrossable. At least for me.

  I recognised immediately where I was. Tower Hill. Just in front of me the Tower of London rose magnificently up into the sky, and between its legs wove the bridge. The bridge that marked the gateway into the Central Zone. The bridge controlled by the GE. The bridge I couldn’t cross.

  I stood there, staring for the longest time, hauling in great lungfuls of air. Then I turned and gazed back the way I’d come. The blue car was nowhere in sight.

  Now what?

  Slowly, hesitantly, I drew the phone out of my pocket. Without permission, my thumb moved to the power key and held it down until the screen flickered into life. No need to scroll through the contacts list. I hit call, then dragged the phone up to my ear, listening to the shrill ring.

  Answer.

  Don’t answer.

  Answer.

  Don’t answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Samuel?” I was gasping, though I’d been standing motionless for a full five minutes. The word came out as a mush, twisted and contorted by my strangled throat.

  He understood at once who it was, though.

  “Hang on.” His voice was clipped, businesslike.

  I listened to the sounds of him walking quickly, then a door opening and closing, biting my tongue to hold my cries at bay. “Lizzie? Lizzie, what’s wrong?” The cold, harsh tones were gone, replaced with a whisper layered in stress, apprehension.

  “I’m sorry,” I blubbered. “I have no one else to call.”

  “What’s happened? In fact, wait a second—” There was a strange sound over the line, the background noises melting away like he’d put his palm over the receiver. “Zane, do me a favour? Go down and see how they’re getting on in the basement. I want to make sure none of it goes missing this time.” It was like listening underwater, Samuel’s voice muffled and far away. Zane’s curt response was even quieter, but it was still enough to make my blood run cold. Samuel was at Bancroft Road, at the house. Unconsciously I started shaking, the phone vibrating against my ear.