Whatever it was, it was coming from the building she had just dropped the boys off by.
Panicked, she picked up her mobile phone and started dialling.
Thomas acted on instinct. He grabbed Stephen’s left arm and dived.
The impact was horrific. Debris came from every angle, either crashing into their moving bodies or just missing.
They hit the floor and covered their heads, doing their best to keep dust out of their mouths and eyes.
Several seconds passed before visibility improved. The door had disappeared, that was obvious, as had most of the wall. A hole had appeared in the roof of the apartment, and it looked like more was about to cave in.
No doubt the debris could be seen from the outside.
Less obvious was exactly how far the damage went.
There was movement to Thomas’s right. Stephen was stirring. He rose slowly from his chest to his haunches, and slower still to his feet. The sound that had dominated his ears for less than two seconds was still ringing over a minute later.
Through the wreckage, Thomas could just about see into the apartment. The interior was completely bare but, as far as he could see, largely undamaged.
He saw movement followed by gunfire.
They hit the floor immediately. The clattering of bullets from an automatic weapon, accompanied by the familiar yellow blaze, had come from the living room. The bullets missed, damaging the wall behind them, just above their heads. Stephen felt a graze to his skin, then a peculiar warm sensation.
There was blood on his arm.
Thomas kept moving to his right, practically dragging Stephen with him. The gunfire continued even after they were out of sight, confirming it was coming from the middle of the apartment.
As soon as it stopped, Thomas rose to his feet and hurried toward the wall. Stephen followed less than a metre behind, adrenalin pumping.
Hyperventilation was setting in.
“They’re firing at us,” Stephen stated, his back to the wall.
“No fucking shit.”
Thomas cocked the trigger on his Glock and edged closer to what remained of the door. Instead of a door and a wall there was now a large hole, perhaps ten metres in diameter.
“Keep quite still.”
Stephen nodded, his breathing now slightly more under control.
Less than a metre away, Thomas chanced exposure, leading to further gunfire. He retreated immediately to his initial position, back to the wall.
Amidst the gunfire, Stephen’s mobile phone started ringing.
He answered. “For God’s sake, Caroline, not now.”
“Wait,” Thomas said, taking the phone. “Caroline…”
“Where are you?”
He could hear crying at the other end of the line. “Listen to me very carefully. I want you to get in t-touch with the p-palace. Tell them that s-someone’s f-firing at us and we need b-backup.”
The words stuttered out of his mouth. He hung up the phone and returned it to Stephen.
Meanwhile, the gunfire had ceased.
Thomas edged closer to the hole, allowing himself an opportunity of observation. He moved closer still, but the gunfire started again. Lunging to his right, he nearly collided with Stephen as he clattered to the floor.
He was back on his feet immediately, attempting to form a plan. The apartment was open plan; he had seen enough of it to know that. The kitchen area was to the right, the area where the gunfire was coming from. He knew he had seen a figure standing there, dressed mainly in black.
The rest was something of a blur.
He waited until the gunfire ceased before firing a couple of shots in that direction. Intuition told him at least one had been successful, perhaps fatal. He allowed what he estimated was ten seconds to go by before chancing further exposure. The figure had disappeared, which meant one of two things:
He was hit or he had moved.
Within a second Thomas had the answer. This time the gunfire came from another part of the kitchen. He took shelter immediately and waited several seconds before firing.
This time, he knew he had found his target.
He moved to the entrance, alive to the possibility that the man he had shot had a partner, and sure enough, he did.
The next round of gunfire came from the other side of the apartment. Everything about it was consistent with the last, suggesting to Thomas that the weapon was the same.
The bullets ceased after about five seconds.
Thomas reloaded. “Give it up. We have you surrounded.”
“Tell him to surrender in the name of the king,” Stephen said.
Thomas refused to dignify that with an answer.
“Come out on the c-count of five.”
The gunfire resumed. A stray bullet ricocheted off something nearby, causing Thomas to drop his gun as he dived. He waited until the gunfire had ceased before returning to his feet and running hard toward the wall. He looked for his gun, but couldn’t find it.
“Give me your gun.”
Stephen didn’t argue.
Thomas edged closer to the doorway. On this occasion he decided to hold back, wary that the man had changed position. He thought about firing one on spec, but decided against it.
His new tactic was patience.
Twenty seconds of silence felt more like a lifetime. His intuition told him that the man had moved. He inched closer to the hole, keeping his back to the wall. He entered the apartment for the first time, gun at the ready.
Whoever had been there was now gone.
He headed left, the lounge area. Stephen followed him, evidently now armed.
“You were just looking in the wrong place.”
Thomas let the insult slide. He continued to the left, whereas Stephen went to the right. Beyond the lounge was a dining area, in the other direction the bedrooms and bathroom. Thomas concluded the gunman had entered the dining room.
There was no way in hell he could have sprinted across the lounge unseen.
The dining area was minus any furniture, confirming initial suspicions that the owner was still to move in. That begged a new question:
What was he doing here?
“He’s dead.”
Thomas turned, his attention on Stephen.
“Two puncture wounds: the heart and lungs.”
Thomas continued to move. “Check his belongings.”
There was movement outside the patio window. He fired immediately, his bullets somehow failing to penetrate the glass.
Outside, the figure had disappeared again.
Thomas continued through the dining room, looking for an exit. There was an open door to the right, heading to a balcony area.
The only option was to head right. A partition wall to the left separated the property from the next one, while directly in front of him the same wall continued along the north side of the building, preventing anyone from falling over the edge. Further afield, the property offered striking views of the north side of the water, buildings recognisable beyond the village. In the last ten minutes, the sun had completely disappeared behind dense cloud, its light replaced by the occasional glow of office lighting standing out against the background like a gigantic electronic solitaire square.
Heading to the right, Thomas followed the balcony. There was a metal fire escape descending all the way to the pavement. He opened the metallic door and began down the stairway. The structure was square, divided into quarters.
He heard footsteps, followed by a gunshot. A bright orange spark was visible about twenty metres in front of him, accompanied by the sound of metal on metal. It didn’t take a genius to work out that the shot had been fired from below.
Staying as close to the wall as possible, he moved quickly down the stairs. Two gunshots followed, dangerously close.
Either he was getting nearer, or the man’s aim was getting better.
Two flights further down, Thomas saw him for the first time. Without question, he was getting closer, no more tha
n a single flight behind. The signs on the stairway told him he was now on the second floor, which tallied with his views out across the river.
A fourth gunshot followed, this one disturbingly close. Sparks appeared merely centimetres in front of him, making a mark on his wrist. The sudden occurrence caused him to fall on his back, though the fall was less painful than the burn. He returned to his feet without breaking stride, and picked up the pace as he approached level 1.
He heard something from down below. A door opened, thick and heavy judging by the sound. Seconds later he saw it himself, a typical fire escape that needed to be opened by pressing a bar.
He emerged on a side street adjoining the road where they had exited the car some twenty minutes earlier. The figure was moving along the banks of the Thames, heading roughly in the direction of the O2.
Thomas wasted no time. He followed the man at speed along the road known as Riverside, at this hour devoid of either humans or cars. Across the water, the buildings surrounding Lyle Park and the Thames Barrier Park passed by in a flash of colour.
On reaching Greenwich Peninsula Ecology Park, he headed to the left and sprinted through the greenery. Thomas emerged on West Parkside, a busy main road with cars racing by in both directions. Ahead of him, the gunman took a chance dashing across the road, barely making it unscathed.
Thomas cursed his luck. Several seconds passed before he was across himself. The shooter was now progressing rapidly along Child Lane, a smart residential area. About a hundred metres in front of him, he could see the man climb aboard a motorbike. Seconds later, he saw Caroline running toward him.
She had parked on the other side of the road.
“Follow that motorbike.”
“What?”
Thomas changed direction before she was able to respond. The motorbike had roared into life, making its way south.
Caroline panicked. She attempted to follow her cousin, but that was impossible in high heels.
Across the road, the biker was revving up and preparing to make his getaway. Practically in tears, she returned to the car, throwing her heels on the front seat. The engine started immediately, and seconds later she was away.
Thomas returned to the apartment the same way he had left it. Stephen was in the kitchen, kneeling down alongside the second shooter. While the apartment itself was quiet, the high-pitched tone of the nearby sirens was becoming progressively louder. In London, it was never obvious exactly what that meant.
“Did you call 999?”
“Of course not.”
Thomas knelt down alongside him. The second shooter was now topless, his upper body covered in blood.
“He needs medical attention.”
“I don’t need a second opinion to tell me he’s dead.”
Thomas remained silent. The adrenalin was pumping so hard it was affecting his thinking. Without question the man’s blood flow had stopped, except for a slight oozing from the actual wound.
There were markings beneath the blood, somewhere around the collarbone.
It was the same thing he had seen on both the friar and the man he had shot at Middleham.
“Have you checked his b-belongings?” Thomas asked.
Stephen showed him a small white package contained within a plastic bag. “I found this in his pocket.”
It looked like pieces of meat.
Outside, the whining of a siren had become louder.
He looked at Stephen. “Come on. The King will kill us himself if we’re seen.”
The first squad of policemen made their entrance on the south side. The lobby was undamaged, despite being a mess.
They had heard reports that the explosion had come from the unfinished top floor.
They proceeded up the indoor stairway, lined up two ranks at a time. The sixth floor was an even greater mess, particularly the far end. Though the dust had settled, evidence of the reported explosion was clear. Even from a distance, it looked like a bomb had done the damage. The hole in the wall was clean, far too clean for it to have been an accident. According to the manager of the building company in charge of the construction, although most of the apartments had been sold, they were still to be lived in.
Strange, then, reports of an explosion at one of them.
The squad scattered on reaching the living room, some heading left, others right.
The body was found in the kitchen. Two gun wounds to the upper chest were evident; it was estimated he had been dead for between ten and twenty minutes.
But there was one peculiarity that no one expected. Above the higher of the two wounds, below the left shoulder, the flesh was missing. It was not part of the original wound – that would have been impossible.
No question, the skin had been cut away with a knife.
The princes had escaped down the fire escape and were now heading east along the river.
Stephen carried a bag of ice in his gloved hand, taken from the freezer.
“I suppose I should congratulate you – it’s not often you have an idea as good as this.”
Thomas answered while sprinting. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm?”
“Remind me, what was the point in removing the man’s tattoo?”
“It was the same as on the one I shot the other night. And the friar.”
Stephen was becoming breathless. “Did you keep that as a souvenir, too?”
“If the press were to see it, it would only be a matter of t-time before someone blew this wide open.”
Stephen’s tank was now empty. “Okay, okay…that’s far enough.”
Thomas also came to a halt. They had made it well over a mile. As best they could tell, they were alone. Traffic in the distance was the only noise.
The sirens had stopped.
Stephen was standing with his hands placed just above his knees, his breathing laboured. “Would you mind telling me what the bloody hell that was all about?”
Thomas didn’t know how to explain it. “They b-both had the s-same tattoo.”
“So what? For all we know, they were both in the same gang in prison.”
Thomas shook his head. “I don’t think so. It was the symbol of the House of York. I think it might be relevant.”
Stephen remained sceptical.
“Perhaps we can get someone in the lab to have a look at it.”
Stephen sought to reply, but the ringing of his mobile phone cut him off.
“Hello?
“Caroline? Where are–
“You’re where?”
“Give me that.” Thomas snatched the phone. “Caroline, what’s happened?”
“I lost him two minutes ago. I made a note of the bike’s registration and reported it to your father. It’s currently being tracked as we speak.”
“Good girl, Caroline.”
“I might be able to catch him again when I get out of London. It looks as if he’s heading north.”
Thomas waited until she had finished. “Try to stay with him. F-far as you can.”
“Will do. I told your father as much as I knew. They’re sending a car to pick you up. Don’t worry; I didn’t drop you in it.”
Thomas laughed. “Thanks.”
“They’ll pick you up at Maryon Park.”
“Maryon Park is fine, th-thank you.”
Thomas hung up and returned the phone to Stephen.
“Why the hell do we have to go all the way to Maryon Park?”
“Trust me, the f-farther away we are from this, the better.”
42
All of the lights were off in the presbytery; at least that was how it looked from the outside. The grounds were deserted, as usual, the priory ruins barely visible beyond the far wall.
There was no danger of surveillance – of that Jen was sure. Her earlier visit, though hardly a reconnaissance mission, had been useful in that regard. The building itself was the opposite of ultramodern – the only thing that prevented it from being antique was the fact that the interior was not even interesting
.
It was just plain old.
She took Anthea as far as the main gate and stopped. The air was still, the light fading, the atmosphere quiet as the grave. Speaking of which, the nearby church was forlorn and silent, even the rooks had grown tired of crowing. There was nothing to disturb the security light that had plagued them the night before. Perhaps it was too early in any case. Either way, they were alone and undisturbed.
The question was, how alone?
Jen surveyed the presbytery from the gate. The house looked dark, but she knew it was still light enough outside to prevent her from being certain.
“His car’s missing,” Jen said – a guess rather than a statement of fact.
“He’s probably visiting the orphanage; he usually does that on a Wednesday about eight.”
That was all she needed.
Jen opened the gate and walked along the pathway, heading toward the house. She rang the doorbell to ensure that there was no one in.
Anthea was nervous.
Two rings later and still no response.
That settled it.
The priory was located to the north of the church and east of the presbytery. A second wall separated it from the presbytery grounds, enterable via a locked gate. In its heyday, the red walls that surrounded the grounds had not been there; instead, moderately sized Romanesque buildings continued across the graveyard and were attached to the church via the cloisters.
Jen stopped by the gate. It was evident from its appearance that this one was older than the first.
“Do you have the key?”
Anthea passed her mother’s keys to Jen, unsure which was the one she wanted.
Jen tried them, but clearly none worked.
She walked along the wall, looking for a way in. There was a tree near the wall, easy to climb.
Jen went first, using the branches to reach the top of the wall. The drop was about four metres.
Seconds later they were over.
Jen led the way across the grounds to the ruins. What little remained was hidden among a luxuriant growth of trees, the walls littered with occasional ivy. What remained of the chapter house – a large Gothic opening, now dilapidated and itself laden with greenery – was now the greatest evidence that the priory once had a heyday. To Jen, it was almost impossible to think that this stone skeleton, now little more than a memory of life, was once a thriving, bustling hub of activity. In her mind, she attempted to imagine it as it had been: according to Lovell, the home of over thirty Dominican friars.
The Plantagenet Vendetta Page 26