And straight through your skin to attack the bone, Adam added silently.
The crews finished dressing, checking each other to make sure no part of their skin or fire kit remained exposed. The distress units twittered as they removed their tags and handed them to the officer. More crews arrived.
Adam and Mal followed Julie’s team to the entrance. Wayne picked up the black hose-reel and paid it through his hand as they entered the building. At least visibility remained good inside, with harsh strip lights illuminating the institutional corridor. The two lines of hose followed a parallel path but after fifty paces, the black hose-reel led them up a flight of stairs. Mal kept the entry control officer informed of their progress over his radio.
A thin haze floated at ceiling height, getting thicker as they advanced. The noise from four regulators and four pairs of boots, echoed off the walls. Then a faint dirge sounded, and Adam’s blood quickened. A pair of doors split the corridor, the two halves kept apart by the hose. Julie reached them first and pushed.
The noise increased. Unmistakeable. A distress unit. Apart from training exercises, he’d only used one once, and the incident still haunted him. Julie hadn’t been BA that night, but all four of them hadn’t forgotten the ordeal.
Wayne moved ahead of Julie, a protective gesture she seemed to allow, then they advanced, moving fast. The smoke grew denser, making progress more hazardous. The strip lighting ceased working, and the temperature rose. Adam ducked down below the haze. The colour warned him this wasn’t just smoke.
Ahead, a torch beam shone upwards, lighting up the ceiling. The lamp attached to the chest of a yellow clad figure on the floor.
“Seen him,” Wayne replied to Adam’s warning.
As they got closer Adam noticed the second figure, slumped against the base of the wall. Debris covered the corridor and pieces of ceiling tile hung down on wires. The sitting figure attempted to rise when he saw them but didn’t have the strength.
His companion lay on his side, his chemical suit blackened and ripped. An explosion had destroyed the doorway to their left, leaving a jagged hole. Flames flickered in the opening, but the hose-reel lay under rubble.
Working quickly, Wayne and Adam, the two biggest, picked up the prone figure and the other two helped his team mate. The temperature increased as the flames got hold. By the time they reached the stairs, reinforcements with water arrived and the parties exchanged information as they passed each other.
Outside, ambulances waited and after decontamination, the two injured firefighters travelled to hospital. Adam checked the time. Nine thirty. Byron must have arrived by now.
Byron raised his hands to waist height, palms downwards, and retreated. The gunman advanced into the house, waving the shotgun like a baton.
“Get away from him,” he shouted and pointed the shotgun towards Samuel and Rebecca.
“They’re helping your friend,” Byron said.
The gunman swung the gun towards him and gave a start. His panting betrayed his agitation and Byron tensed, concerned he’d pull the trigger by mistake.
“Did I ask you to speak?” The gunman’s voice wavered, and he stared at Byron.
Byron looked away, not wanting to antagonise someone so close to the edge.
“Step back. Now!” he demanded.
Byron moved away from him and the gunman blinked before scanning the room. One of the men in the doorway groaned. The gunman kicked both of them and stepped into the room. He gestured with the shotgun and Byron retreated. The man’s forefinger rested on the trigger guard, but Byron couldn’t risk tackling him. In this space, a sawn-off would do untold damage. Philip and Cecily also retreated and Byron gestured towards Samuel’s study. Philip took the hint.
Samuel broke the silence. “Your friend’s lost a lot of blood; he needs to go to hospital. The bleeding’s stopped but he’ll need stitches and medication.”
The gunman hesitated and studied McLaughlin. A large blood-soaked bandage covered his left ear, and the exposed skin round it looked pale as a fish’s belly. The gunman hesitated and Samuel took this as permission to continue his treatment.
Philip had edged towards the door to his father’s study. Byron needed to distract the gunman without getting shot. A guy this on-edge would either freeze or shoot anything that moved. The two fallen men in the doorway stirred and, without prompting, the gunman checked on them. Byron allowed himself to relax. The gunman jerked the barrel at him, holding it in trembling hands, and took a deep breath. The first of the two men at the door regained his feet and leant against the frame before extending a hand to the other.
Rebecca said, “We’ve done what we can, but it’s only temporary.” She pointed to the bandage. “As my husband said, he will need stitches.”
The gunman nodded. McLaughlin looked to have recovered and he sat up. Philip had slipped half way through the door into Samuel’s study so Byron stepped towards McLaughlin and extended a hand.
“Get back!” The gunman waved his shotgun and Byron obeyed.
One of the men from the door helped McLaughlin to his feet. Once upright he scanned the room. “Where’s the boy?” His voice shook.
“Forget him, Ritch—” the gunman said.
McLaughlin glared at him, then addressed the two men he’d arrived with. “The fucker can’t be far, find him.”
“We’d better get going.”
“Your friend’s right,” Byron said, resisting the temptation to use Ritchie’s name.
McLaughlin faced him, seeing him for the first time and recognition bloomed. “You. I should have fucking—”
“Let’s go!” the gunman said, his voice rising.
A siren sounded on the main road and McLaughlin led the way out, giving Byron a look to chill his insides. Byron had hoped to have a few days up here before McLaughlin found out he’d returned.
Philip saw Byron gesture towards his father’s study and checking the gunman’s attention was elsewhere, he shuffled backwards towards the door. With his heart thumping he willed the man to keep looking away. His father spoke and Philip edged closer to the door, perspiration running down his spine. Cecily watched him but didn’t move. Philip felt bad leaving her, but they wanted him and if he disappeared, they’d leave. Now Uncle Byron had arrived and he’d make sure nobody hurt his sisters.
He reached the door and his mother said something. He slipped through the doorway. The gunman shouted at him to stop and Philip’s heart jerked. Then he realised he wasn’t speaking to him and continued. He waited in his father’s study and tried to control his pulse. After a few moments he crept towards the French windows leading into their garden. Voices rumbled behind him, sounding like they were arguing.
The click as he opened the lock made him jump. He froze, waiting for the blast of a shotgun in his back. When nothing happened, he exhaled and eased the door open. Once outside, he pushed the door to, afraid to close it in case it made a noise. If anyone came into the room, they’d notice.
He hesitated. Should he run for help or stay and make sure his family was safe? He’d check first, but remained ready to run into the darkness if anyone should follow him. His pulse still racing, he worked his way towards the kitchen window and peered in, trying to see into the hallway.
“Hello, Philip.” Mugisa’s voice made him jump; then a cold, sharp blade pressed against the back of his neck.
CHAPTER 9
The man ripped The Boy from the room where his mother was being violated. Unable to take in what he’d seen The Boy didn’t struggle. The powerful grip on his windpipe prevented air entering his lungs.
His mother, galvanised by the sight of the man seizing her baby son, increased her struggles. Although weakened by her wounds, she managed to dredge up the strength to dislodge her attacker. Caught by surprise, the man fell back. She rolled over and rose from a kneeling position. The man recovered and, seeing his prize escaping, grabbed his assault rifle from the corner where he’d left it.
Not wanting to waste b
ullets, he hefted the weapon, and brought it crashing into the back of her skull. She fell in a tangle of limbs, a puppet with its strings severed. Her killer, frustrated at having his pleasure curtailed, kicked out at her lifeless body.
In the next room, his captor held The Boy by the scruff of his neck and showed him the body of the man who had defiled his sister. The giant who held him glared at The Boy. Despite confronting the biggest man he’d ever seen, The Boy remained unmoved and returned the stare, challenging the man to do his worst. The man produced a knife and held the point to The Boy’s throat.
Byron stood on the doorstep watching the four men walk away from the house, relief at their departure mixed with concern they would return. McLaughlin wouldn’t let the matter go; especially as he’d blame Byron for his humiliation.
His case lay on the drive but he waited until their car left before retrieving it. When he returned, his brother held Cecily while Rebecca soothed her. A second girl he recognised stood at the bottom of the stairs and surveyed the scene.
“Wow, what’s gone on here?” she said, surveying the hallway. “Uncle Byron!” she yelled in surprise.
“Lucy?” Both girls had grown so much since he’d last seen them.
She smiled before coming over to give him a hug.
“Samuel, Rebecca,” he greeted her parents.
Rebecca looked at him coolly. “Byron.”
Samuel loosened his hold on Cecily and nodded a greeting. “What are you doing here?”
Byron said, “Good thing I came.”
“I’m sorry, I meant…”
“Philip called me.” He jerked his thumb towards Samuel’s study. “He said you had an unwelcome visitor at lunchtime. The same gang I presume.”
Rebecca nodded. “Just one, the one I…”
“Did you recognise him?” Byron asked his brother.
“Should I have?”
“Ritchie McLaughlin. Two years above me at school. He’s got — had a twin brother. A nasty piece of work, even then.” The memory of their last confrontation still haunted Byron and no doubt McLaughlin recalled it vividly.
“He’d have been a few years below me.” Samuel looked around and asked, “Where’s Philip?”
“In here.” Byron entered the study and switched on the light.
The draft hit him before he saw the open doors and he stepped outside, peering into the darkness and calling the boy’s name. He dismissed his apprehension. McLaughlin’s men couldn’t have got hold of Philip. Byron had seen them get straight into the car and the only thing on their minds was to escape and get their boss patched up.
He returned to the study where the rest of the family waited. “Do you have any outside lights?”
Lucy flicked a switch beside the doors and harsh white light filled the garden.
“We’ve got sensors, but we disabled them. The cats…” Samuel explained.
Byron took a few minutes to check the garden, his apprehension growing as he searched. Rebecca joined him with a torch and they checked under the hedges and the small orchard at the far end. The shed and greenhouse were locked and looked undisturbed. The rest of the family gathered round the doors, looking worried. Byron returned and shook his head in answer to Samuel’s unasked question.
“He’s probably made a run for it. He wasn’t to know those men would leave like they did. That would have been the sensible thing to do.” Despite his unease, Byron attempted to sound reassuring.
“Where would he have gone?” Samuel didn’t sound convinced.
“If it was me, I’d wait on the streets near the house. I’ll have a quick look.”
“I’ll come with you.” Rebecca gripped her husband’s shoulder, and he stroked her hand. “I’ll get my coat and another torch.”
Adam returned from the X-ray department to the waiting room, to await the next stage of the battery of checks he’d been sent to take. Two pumps sat idle in the hospital car park until their crew members re-joined them. The other three were no longer in the waiting room. Getting a can of Vimto from the vending machine, he took a seat. The clock on the wall clicked as the minute hand moved. Gone midnight.
Footsteps echoed on the tiled floor and Julie arrived. “You finished?”
“I’ve had the x-rays but someone’s going to check my respiratory function.”
“Pain, isn’t it? We weren’t exposed to anything.”
“I suppose they’ve got to cover their backs.” He remembered training with tear-gas in the marines. They’d told him to wash his burning eyes out with cold water and given him a mug of tea.
Julie bought a cup of something from the vending machine and sat next to him. A sweet chocolatey smell temporarily eclipsed the overriding whiff of disinfectant and stale urine. They sat in uncomfortable silence.
Julie broke it before he did. “You’re wondering how long I’ve been with Wayne.”
“It’s a surprise. More of a shock really.” He grinned. “Astonishing, startling—”
“Astounding.”
“Staggering.”
“Stunning.” Julie’s grin became a laugh, and they both relaxed. “He’s all right once you get to know him.”
“Hmmm, I’m sure.”
“That sounded shit. He’s a really nice guy, but he hides behind a big bad wolf persona.”
“We’re all hiding something.” Adam drained his can and crushed it.
“He worried about you finding out.”
“Why?” A sense of dread tugged at his guts. “You weren’t together when we were?”
“Of course not. We’ve only been an item for three weeks. He thought you might be upset and mention…” She hesitated.
“He saved my life.”
“You saved his.”
“Yeah, but I value mine a lot more than I do his, so I’m still in his debt.”
She returned his smile. “But you covered up for him when he missed that woman.”
“It’s a mistake anyone could have made.”
“But you didn’t, and you know what people are like.”
Adam did. “Yeah, but I only found her because I knew she was there. I’d have ripped the walls apart.”
“Thanks. I told him you’d say that.” She gripped his hand, hers still hot from the drink.
He returned the pressure. “I’m glad you’ve moved on, found someone…”
“What about you?” She studied him from under her auburn fringe, her big brown eyes seeming to see his innermost thoughts.
“Nobody special.”
“Not someone you want to start a family with?”
“Nah.”
“You’re still only twenty-seven, Adam. I’m not even going to think about kids ’til I hit thirty.”
The reminder of the circular arguments they’d had in the lead up to their breakup broke the spell and brought a return to the awkward atmosphere. Adam squeezed the already flat can, deciding whether to have another, just to get away.
“Adam Sterling?” a nurse said.
With a surge of relief he stood and followed her.
Byron searched every garden he could get into, marvelling at how many people didn’t lock their gates. He ignored barking dogs and security lights as he examined dark corners. His thoughts strayed to McLaughlin. He’d hoped to have time up here before McLaughlin found out he’d come back, so he could confront him on his own terms. Now he’d have to be on his guard from day one, but first they needed to find Philip.
A figure jogged towards him out of the darkness. “Philip?” Rebecca called.
“Afraid not,” Byron said.
For a moment her disappointment almost brought forth tears but Rebecca was made of stern stuff. “Did you search every garden?”
“Those I got into—”
“Which ones did you miss out?”
“Did you want me to break into the houses as well?”
She glared at him for a second before deflating. “Sorry.”
“He may have gone further afield. Do you want to g
et the car?”
She started for home, not waiting for him. He caught her up as they reached their drive.
“He might have gone to Jenna’s, his girlfriend,” she said.
“Which way would he go?” Byron said.
“Why?”
“If he’s taking the trouble to stay out of sight, he might not have arrived yet, but if he has, he’ll be safe and comfortable until we get there.”
She hesitated. “Okay.”
Rebecca followed a route from her house, pausing at each junction for Byron to check the side roads and alleyways.
Ten minutes later, she pulled up outside a semi slightly smaller than her house. “This is where Jenna lives.”
Byron opened the passenger door.
She stopped him. “I’ll go.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No need.” She slammed her door and strode to the house.
Byron suppressed his irritation and waited. Although Jenna’s parents must have liberal views to allow her to go out with Philip, the sight of a strange six-foot-five black man at their door at this time of night might be too much. Rebecca returned two minutes later, her body language telling Byron what he needed to know. She sat in the driver’s seat fiddling with the keys.
For the first time in his memory, Byron felt sorry for his sister-in-law. “Is there another route he might have taken?”
“Hmmm. Possibly.” She started the engine, and they returned by a different route.
They fell into the same routine, Byron ducking out to search at each junction. Ahead, he saw the first of the many parks in the vicinity, its gates locked. She pulled up and killed the engine.
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