Will has an idea. ‘Look for a car with keys. Perhaps someone will have left them during the rush.’
Anna wastes no time and searches a row of nearby cars. Will takes another row, darting from car to car pulling open doors, peering inside and cursing his luck at finding nothing. Across the road is a bus with the driver door lying wide open.
Will glances behind him and sees Wykes’ shadow appear from the ruins.
‘Hide,’ he hisses.
Anna rushes to the side of the road and out of sight.
Will runs to the bus, climbs up into the driver’s seat and closes the door. He crouches down on the floor by the pedals and listens.
He can hear Wykes stepping cautiously up Tower Bridge Road, stopping every now and then. Will does not move and tries to work out where he is. He is close, at the rear of bus, Will thinks. And then he feels the bus shift slightly as Wykes steps onto the rear platform.
Will holds his breath as Wykes walks up the aisle.
Will glances up at the small window separating the passenger and driver areas. He swallows. If Wykes takes one look through it, he is done for.
Wykes approaches. Will turns his head slowly and looks at the cabin door. He will spring at it and make his escape, if he has to.
Something clatters on the roof of the bus, and Wykes stops. Anna must have thrown something to divert his attention.
Wykes starts up the stairs. Will can hear his muffled tread upstairs and then a second clatter outside.
Another diversion.
Will feels the weight of the bus lean slightly to the right. He hears Wykes walk back down the aisle, down the stairs and onto the road.
His steps move away from the bus. Will’s brow is damp with sweat. He thinks about Sam and fresh tears well in his eyes. He wipes them away with curled fists as a rage roars inside him like a furnace.
I will finish Wykes and Frost. All of them. I swear, Sam, I will do it.
Over the dashboard he sees Wykes hurrying towards the bridge. He must think he and Anna are on their way to St Paul’s. Will waits a few more moments until Wykes is out of sight and pushes himself up. Something jabs against his shoulder. The key for the bus is still in the ignition. Sitting in the driver’s seat, he places his hands on the immense steering wheel and thinks.
Can I drive something this size?
Outside, German bombers swarm the skies. What choice does he have? He looks back to where they have left Sam’s body and, with a heaviness in his heart, he turns the key. The engine shudders and then shuts down. He tries again. This time the engine coughs and chokes three times before giving up. Will hears Anna climb on board.
‘It might just be cold,’ she says. ‘Keep trying.’
Will tries again and the engine rumbles reluctantly. Behind him, in the distance, he hears gunfire and the screech of car brakes. He looks back and sees the old post-office van valiantly pursuing Dalton’s Humber. He has no doubt Frost is in that car. They are heading towards the bridge. Will’s pulse begins to race.
The bus engine rumbles, flattens and dies. Will grits his teeth and turns the key again. The engine coughs and trembles, stronger this time. ‘Come on!’ he shouts and, as if obeying his plea, the engine makes a clucking sound and the entire bus shakes into life.
‘Well done, Will!’ says Anna.
Will focuses on the controls, gripping the brake lever to his left and easing it down. He presses the accelerator with his foot and the bus rolls forward. The steering wheel is huge compared to the Embiricos and much harder to manoeuvre, especially with his sore and bloody hand. He slips the gear up to second, then third and picks up speed. Keep it steady, he tells himself over and over. Ignoring the blackout rule, Will switches on the lights. He cannot afford to lose time now by crashing into something he does not see. He presses the accelerator to the floor.
‘Hold on!’ he shouts.
Then straight ahead, Will catches sight of Wykes. He is signalling with a torch to the sniper at the top of the bridge. Wykes is standing on the middle of the bridge road, his pistol pointing at the bus. Will hears a creaking noise as if the bridge beneath them is moving. Behind Wykes, the bascules have started to rise. Will swallows. They are done for. He can see a smile forming on Wyke’s face. He obviously signalled to the sniper to raise the bridge.
A surge of anger races through Will. This is not over yet.
‘Anna, get down and hang on as tight as you can!’ Will shouts.
‘What are you doing?’ she calls, but there is no time to explain.
He can’t quite believe what he is about to do. But what option does he have? Wykes is aiming the revolver. Will can see his finger squeezing the trigger and ducks behind the wheel as the gunshot rings out. The windscreen shatters. Cool air fills the driver’s cabin. The bus swerves but Will holds it firm and steers toward Wykes. There is a sudden look of dismay on the man’s face. Will smiles. But then, Wykes runs at the bus, his stride long and strong, he leaps onto the bonnet.
With grim determination, Will mounts the rising bascule and speeds up.
Wykes clings on to the bonnet with one hand; the other claws at Will’s face through the broken windscreen. With his heart pounding, Will leans away from Wykes as the bus hurtles toward the edge of the bascule and flies into the air.
There is calm; the bus makes no sound. A gentle wind fills the cabin, blowing through Will’s hair and cooling his hot face. Wykes scrambles forward, but Will raises his fist and with all his strength launches it at the man’s broad nose. He hears a satisfying crunch as Wykes’ head rocks back. His grip loosens. He fights for purchase but it is too little, too late. He slides across the bonnet with nothing to grab hold of.
Will watches without regret, or remorse, as Wykes slips from the bonnet and falls, screaming. He sees Wykes’ body slam against the edge of the bascule, silencing him as he plummets towards the dark waters of the Thames below.
With his heart in his mouth, Will grips the steering wheel firmly. The bus tilts forward to meet the other bascule that is now at a forty-five degree angle.
‘Hang on, Anna!’
The bus slams into the bascule front wheels first. He hears a cry from the rear as metal scrapes against the road surface, sparks arch up the sides of the bus like fiery wings. The steering wheel spins to the right sliding through Will’s sore and bloody hand. The bus swerves. Will pushes the brake pedal to the floor, but it feels like it is not working. He spins the wheel to the left as the bus mounts the pavement and crashes sideways against the steel barrier.
On his right, he sees the side of the bus peeling away. Ignoring the pain in his wounded hand, he hauls the steering wheel to the left while pumping the brakes. The bus swerves again, tilting left then right, the brakes screeching in protest. Will’s strength is spent, his wounded palm is sweaty and bloody and losing traction against the steering wheel. The end of the bascule is ahead, the bridge flattens out, the bus jolting at the sudden change in angle. He pulls the handbrake lever with his good hand and the bus skids to the left, spinning three hundred and sixty degrees, the side panel flapping dangerously before finally coming loose and clattering behind them on the roadside.
With all his remaining strength, Will steadies the wheel, but the bus tips to the left, driving forward on two wheels.
Will throws his weight to the right in the desperate hope he can provide balance, but it is futile. The bus tilts further, he falls to the side of the cabin, banging his temple on the overhead control panel as the bus topples and crashes to the ground, glass shattering, sparks flying as it slides and scrapes to a stop near the bridge exit.
Will lies in a heap on the cabin’s side, head spinning. The bus is creaking, protesting. For a moment he stares vacantly at the torrid flashing skies above. He is still alive but what about Anna?
He almost doesn’t want to look but he hears her voice and peers into the rear of the bus.
Anna is gripping firmly on to a passenger seat, safe though understandably pale.
Still dizzy, Will massages his temples and looks at the bascule. It is up as high as it can go and shows no sign of lowering. He can hear gunfire from the top of the bridge. The sniper must be firing at Eoin. Fury grips Will and tears flood the back of his eyes. He will make that sniper pay. And then the bitter smell of diesel swamps the cabin, bringing him to his senses. A fire has started in the engine. Time to get out of here!
Chapter 38
London Crumbles
Will jumps over the driver’s seat and pushes up the cabin door, which opens like a hatch. The sky is fraught with searchlights and droning bombers and rapid gunfire. He pulls himself up and stands on the side of the fallen bus. The left panel is missing and the passenger area is exposed. He clambers over the edge of the seats toward Anna.
‘The engine is burning. We have to be quick,’ he says.
He reaches down and pulls her up. They drop clumsily down the undercarriage to the ground below and give the engine a wide berth before running along the barriers and off the bridge.
An explosion rocks the ground.
Instinctively Will and Anna grab each other and turn to see the front of the bus in flames. They watch without saying anything, Will edging closer to Anna without realising. He feels her breath close. She is looking at him and he feels a warmth inside.
Something trembles in his blazer pocket. The astrolabe. He takes it out. It is glittering rapidly. ‘We’re getting closer,’ he says.
‘We should hurry,’ says Anna, stepping back.
They sprint down to the waterside path towards the Tower of London, running breathlessly, their shoes clipping rapidly on the black cobbles. Will glances nervously back at the bridge. The bascules are still up and there is no sign of Eoin, or Dalton, on the other side. He looks behind and no one is following.
The flashing skies cast long flickering shadows of their tired bodies against the walls of the Tower of London. They are horribly exposed. One shot from the sniper could take either of them out.
Anna hides from view as Will turns up Water Lane and then glances up and down the wide expanse of Lower Thames Street to ensure there is no one suspicious approaching. When he is sure it is safe, he hurries across and hides in the shadows of a narrow exit road opposite. He glances around, waiting a moment, and then beckons Anna to follow.
They run through dark streets. The tall buildings obscure the moonlight and the glare of the searchlights, but not the terrifying rumble and boom of destruction that can be heard from every corner of the city. The ground quakes and the buildings shake as if they would collapse at any moment. Will wonders if this is what the end of the world would be like. Masonry dust and smoke fill the air, shrapnel falls from the skies, bouncing off roofs and walls and landing perilously close on three occasions.
Despite his determination and resolve, London is crumbling around him and he is frightened. Will begins to recognise the area and knows they are getting closer. The street ahead leads to a wider expanse, where looming tall in the sky is St Paul’s dome, its great ball and cross silhouetted in the moonlight.
‘What do we do when we get inside?’ asks Anna.
‘We find the eye. The eye will show us where to go.’
Chapter 39
The St Paul’s Watch
Will and Anna crouch in the cemetery garden at the rear of St Paul’s scanning the building for a side door. For a moment, it seems there is nothing, until a sliver of light shines from a gully at the side of the cathedral. It extinguishes as quickly as it appears. They hear the sound of slow footsteps, boots on stone, and the tune of someone whistling ‘Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye’. It makes Will think of Aunty and the safe house, the last time he heard it. He steadies his breathing and slinks into the shadows beside Anna.
The whistler turns out to be an older man with a slight build who walks with a stoop and the stiff pace of someone who suffers from arthritis. He is dressed in an out-dated military uniform with a tin hat and a pair of binoculars around his neck. He is also carrying what seems to be a long spear, which is very odd. He does not appear to be a warden. Will wonders who he might be. The old man crosses through the courtyard and checks the cemetery garden, looking all the while in their direction. Has he seen or heard them? Will and Anna hold their breath and do not move an inch.
The sound of a bomber distracts the man. He fumbles around his neck and peers through the binoculars. He mumbles quietly under his breath then turns towards the front of the cathedral. Will and Anna exchange glances. They are both thinking the same thing. Will goes first, hurrying towards the gully and quickly down the steps. The door is unlocked and they both slip inside, closing it shut behind them.
It is dark and warm with a faint trace of incense in the air. Will takes out the torch and switches it on. The battery power is running low, the beam is fading but there is enough light to see they are in a wide and tall vaulted corridor made of stone. There are sconces on the walls and statues guarding numerous tombs. They are in the crypt. Will quickly gets a sense of his bearings and looks at Anna. He points west toward the front of the cathedral. Anna shakes her head and points north. Will shakes his head, defiantly, even though he has no idea how to get upstairs.
Maybe she is right. He relents and follows Anna through the unlit corridor, passing several more tombs along the way. It leads to a wide set of stone steps and a large gate. Anna runs up the steps and leaps gracefully onto the gate and over. Will joins her on the other side and they walk out on to the cathedral floor.
Will had forgotten how immense the cathedral is, more so now that they are the only people inside. It seems more an ancient stronghold than a place of worship and he has a sense the structure could magically protect them from the falling bombs. But he knows this is a fantasy. It is stone and mortar like any other building and would crumble in minutes if a bomb hit it.
He takes out the drawing of the cross, unfolds it and walks backwards toward the altar. Anna appears at his side and studies it with him. He looks across the vast space and turns the drawing of the cross over in his hands.
‘I was right. It is definitely the cathedral floor plan.’
Anna points to the shaft. ‘These are not jewels. They are benches and alcoves. But where is the eye?’
Will looks across at the rows of benches. In the centre of the cross should be something representing an eye. He walks to where the eye should be, looking down at the marble floor in front of the altar. It is then that he sees it.
‘Anna, look!’
Anna stands beside him and looks down.
‘Do you see it?’
‘Yes!’
The marble design in the centre of the floor is almost like a giant’s pupil. There is a brass grate like a dull golden iris forever peering upwards. Will and Anna follow its gaze and look up at the dome.
‘Somewhere high up,’ says Will.
‘St Paul’s has the highest point in London.’
Will swallows and rubs the back of his neck.
‘What the devil are you two doing?’ says a voice.
Will turns to see a stout man appear from behind the altar. He is wearing a monocle, a military cap and some sort of chain mail underneath his officer’s jacket.
‘Taking shelter from the air raid, sir,’ says Will, saying the first thing that pops into his head.
The man walks toward them, frowning. ‘How did you get in here?’
‘There was a door…’ says Anna.
‘To the crypt,’ adds Will.
The man regards them suspiciously and glances at the floor plan in Will’s hand. His eyes narrow.
Time is running out.
‘If you please, sir, I need to get up there,’ says Will, pointing at the dome.
‘Out of the question.’
Will and Anna glance at each other.
‘Sir, please. I have very little time. I must get to the top of the dome.’
The man snorts, reaches into his pocket and takes out a notepad and pencil. ‘What are your names?’<
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Will hears footsteps and turns to see the old soldier with the spear appear from the west doors at the front of the cathedral.
The man with the monocle looks up: ‘What’s going on Private Warby? These two…’
But there is someone else in the shadows, pointing a rifle at the old man’s back. Will can see it is no ordinary rifle. It is an M1 Garand, semi-automatic. The kind of rifle used by a sniper.
Will freezes, his hands curl into fists. Who else could it be but the sniper from the bridge?
‘Excuse me, Captain Snelling, sir,’ says Private Warby.
‘Private Warby, what in the blazes is going on here?’
Will interrupts. ‘Captain Snelling, sir. That man behind Private Warby is a traitor and a murderer. He killed our friend.’
Captain Snelling looks at Will as if he is mad.
‘I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t ‘ave much of a choice,’ says Warby. As they get nearer, Will sees the face of the sniper.
‘You!’ he says.
‘Rupert?’ says Anna.
Rupert Van Horne shoves Private Warby forward, his eyes darting nervously from Anna to Captain Snelling and back to Will. He is trembling, but his hands remain steady on the gun; his expression flickers unnaturally between psychotic and remorseful.
Will shakes with rage. ‘You killed Sam, you bastard!’
‘I should have killed you, too, and I will. Give me the notebook and whatever else you have in your pocket.’
‘No!’
Horne turns the rifle towards Anna: ‘Don’t play games with me.’
Will steps in front of Anna and faces the barrel of the rifle, his eyes fixing on Horne’s.
‘You killed a boy, an innocent.’
‘Shut up!’
‘Why are you doing this, Horne? Why betray us all?’
Horne starts to laugh. ‘Don’t you recognize me, Starling? We know each other from years back. Four years to be precise. But, of course, apparently you have lost your memory. I don’t believe that for one moment.’
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