Stefanescu ignored all maritime protocols now and rammed the throttle into its highest setting, causing the damaged boat to surf up on its keel, the bow lifting out of the water. He was now a target.
Cade settled himself against the railings, closed his left eye and released the air from his lungs. The round left the Glock without telegraphing its escape. On a range it was the perfect shot. Knee-deep in filthy water, cold and pumped full of adrenaline, it was a bloody miracle.
The bullet tracked across the Thames, chasing after the boat and its occupants as a peregrine falcon hunts its prey. Fast, targeted and ruthless.
Made of copper for maximum fragmentation, it entered the boat and struck Stefanescu in the left arm, blowing flesh away from bone and exiting up through the canopy, shattering the plexiglass windscreen and disappearing harmlessly down river.
To an untrained observer it sounded like a knife being pushed through soft fruit, to a surgeon it was the sound of internal chaos as blood vessels separated, discharging their precious fluid into the surrounding masses.
The slide flew back on Cade’s pistol, announcing the empty state of the magazine. Even if he had a replacement, it would have been futile. They were gone now. Gone. But far from forgotten.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Stefanescu heard the round hitting his arm.
“Pwwwt!” It was a peculiar sound and one which didn’t particularly herald the pain that followed. High pitched, a whistle almost, it announced itself above all other sounds and managed to make its presence known above the cacophony of the protesting outboard motor.
He knew he had to prioritise, but human need was rapidly overwhelming his thought processes.
‘Once again brother you leave me to fight for myself. I despise you.’
He was distracted by the sight of blood which was quickly, but not rapidly staining his clothing. In order to prioritise, he focused on the pre-arranged landing area – a small beach that was only exposed at low to mid-tide and below the place where Hewett had said he would be waiting.
Stefanescu did not trust the Englishman. Not at any point in the past and certainly not now. He half expected him to fail in his initial mission. Why his brother had involved him he did not know, there were, as the English often said, plenty more fish in the sea.
He looked backwards into the main passenger area of the small but surprisingly capacious boat and began to weigh up the issues before him. He nodded to Gheorghiu.
“You OK brother?”
He nodded. “Cold, tired…”
“These are things that will pass. Temporary states of mind. I need you to be my strength in the next few hours. You are bleeding.”
Gheorghiu looked once again at the small wound and wiped the blood away, then rubbed his hands together until the red liquid dried into a metallic-smelling paste.
“I will be OK. You?” He pointed needlessly at the more impressive wound on Stefanescu’s arm.
“I’ve had worse playing with my big brother! But see if you can find a first aid kit, somewhere up front, I need to stop the bleeding soon.”
Gheorghiu tapped Constantin on the face, stinging his already frigid skin.
”Wake up little one, we are almost there. Another twenty-four hours and we will be home.”
He took a moment to sigh and consider the last few weeks. The promise of easy money and luxuries had been too much of a temptation to ignore, but as he shuddered against the breeze, he found himself longing for familiar surroundings and normality. Boredom seemed like a perfect option.
Constantin had dragged himself back into the here and now, away from the perpetual nightmare that haunted him and wondered whether the escape from the tunnel might have been the cathartic moment he needed to move on in his own life. If he could rid his body and mind of the constant craving for chemical stimuli all the better. He shuffled forwards and told Gheorghiu to take the helm.
Gheorghiu had a twenty-second briefing and took over the wheel from his injured boss.
Constantin spoke to Stefanescu, as loud as he could, without obviously shouting, paranoia once more convincing him that everyone in London was watching or listening to him.
“Let me deal with the wound.”
“What do you know about medicine you fool? I don’t see what my big brother sees in you. You are a burden to us all. If we are caught…”
Constantin stepped up a gear, raised his right hand and placed his index finger on his boss’s lips.
“You need to conserve energy my dear friend. The bullet caught your cephalic vein…it will continue to bleed quite badly but you will not die if we apply pressure. Here, push this into the hole until I can find a clean bandage.”
Stefanescu did as he was told. As he leaned back against the hull to steady himself he looked straight at Constantin.
“So where does a failure like you, a washed-up drug addict…learn such skills? Military?”
He smiled a sarcastic smile. “You see me as the broken bottle in the children’s playground don’t you? Actually, no, I am self-taught and then when I learned how to blow things up they taught me how to repair any innocent victims who got in my way. Not once did that happen. I was an expert. There are not many basic injuries I cannot deal with. I learned on pigs, but I often find they have more manners than some of my patients. I may be…washed-up, but I have just stopped you slowly bleeding to death.”
He emphasised the last point with a tightening of the dressing, announcing he had completed his job in rapid time.
Stefanescu nodded. “Thank you.”
“It needs more work, but we will do that later.”
They were both reminded of the present when Gheorghiu shouted back to them.
“One minute!”
Nicol surfaced with an immense gasp. He’d cut more of the fibres away but it needed one more attempt.
Cade tossed the empty pistol towards the secondary tunnel, partly hoping it would remain dry, then focused on the girl. She was not the main concern.
“Well done John. I’m going back down. Just try to keep her above water, we don’t have long – talk to her – and listen out for the troops. There’s no way they couldn’t have heard that bloody racket.”
“Will do, boss. Did you get them?”
“I have no idea.” He ducked under the water, knife in hand, re-traced his steps and started cutting. Part of his psyche told him to stop, to give up, but the balance, the desire for the far-greater good urged him onwards. After all, he had bugger all else to do.
He opened his eyes again, allowed them to focus and started slashing at the hemp fibres until they gave way. Almost one by one they ruptured, letting go of their captive, swirling around in front of his eyes before being spirited away on the tide. It took a minute – a lifetime, but she was free.
Cade surfaced with a clear idea of what to do next. If it worked, it would be more extraordinary than anything else he had ever done, and in a few frenzied weeks he felt he’d done enough to write an entire book, a sequel. A bloody trilogy in fact.
Hewett was tapping the black leather steering wheel, drumming his fingernails onto the four silver rings that adorned the centre boss.
There was no music this time, no confident arrogance. He was at the point of no return, in his head he had already turned left and accelerated towards an uncertain future. But his heart was saying ‘Stop! Turn back you fool, save your soul and your reputation while you still can. No one will know.’
Jennings, Daniel and a growing number of troops were pushing their way through the watery debris of the old café, fighting to get to the source of the commotion below them.
“Are we safe doing this boss?” It was Jennings this time, questioning the mentality of taking a stick to a gunfight.
“Stay or go Andy, either way I’m going. I’ve lost too many of my bloody team not to.”
He clambered over discarded building materials and indescribable rubbish, through the half-light and down into the building, following the two p
revious groups that had made the same journey.
Within five minutes they found their way to the hatch. They needed no further encouragement – Daniel held up a hand for silence. Below them was not the sound of a struggle, but a fight for life.
“One and two and three and four…”
He lowered himself to his knees and leant through the hole, initially retching at the stench of the old tunnel. He looked down onto a surreal sight. A uniformed constable was leaning into the curved brick wall, waist-deep in water with the saturated body of a female laid across his lap. He was pushing rhythmically onto her chest which explained the counting.
At his right and cradling her head was Cade, providing life-giving oxygen, his lips sealed over hers, no longer concerned about water-borne hazards.
A solitary rat lowered itself out of the nearby secondary tunnel, slipped down the polished brickwork and nonchalantly swam past the group, its head only just above the waterline. Seconds later it had vanished, swimming through the grate and out into the main river.
Cade, who despised the creatures, hadn’t even paused from his duties. At any other time he would have happily clubbed it to death. He had his reasons, disease-carrying bastards.
Daniel was unsure whether to break the momentum but knew that Cade needed help. He called out.
“Jack, it’s me. I’m ruining a perfectly good Aquascutum suit here. Anything I can do old chap?”
It was the understated Englishness of the situation that finally made Cade laugh after so many days of turmoil.
“Do you know what? A cup of Earl Grey would be delightful.”
“On its way, sir. As it comes, no milk. Now seriously, what do you need Jack?”
“Get a few of the lads down here, not too many, it’s not good underfoot, we just need a break. Tell them to leave their dignity up there, it’s festering down here. And get us an ambulance team ASAP. I have no idea if this girl is going to survive boss but I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow her to end her days in this shit hole.”
“All points noted old son. Ambulance will be here soon, ETA about five. What was all that bloody racket earlier? Did you see them?”
Cade exhaled into Shipley’s water-filled lungs, knowing he was probably doing more harm than good. He handed over to Nicol and continued talking.
“John here got off a few shots. For the record he’s not a qualified AFO – but authorised or not he did a fine job with the pistol so let’s just forget that little matter shall we and blame me if he hit anything? He was under orders after all. Wait one…”
He returned to propelling deep lungfuls of air into the prone, lifeless girl.
“…OK, I got off half a magazine, I’m certain I hit one of them, probably wrecked the bloody boat, but you’ll have to deal with that out of Westminster’s budget. They went that way, small cream coloured day cruiser, blue canopy. Took off like a scalded cat.”
Another lungful of air was dispensed as Cade allowed a fresh-faced, blond-haired constable to lower himself into the void and take over. He wiped his own mouth before commencing – as if he was afraid that his benevolent gesture was going to infect her somehow.
“She’s past caring kid, just crack on, ambulance will be here soon.” Cade stepped away, his legs started to shake as he leant against the slippery surface of the tunnel wall, trying to steady himself. A combination of exhaustion and location was conspiring to frustrate him beyond belief. He felt like he hadn’t eaten in days and probably hadn’t.
He continued to talk to Daniel without looking at him. “We need a ladder boss. Sharpish. I have to get out of here before I dissolve and the medics are going to need some method of extracting her, regardless.”
Daniel realised that despite Cade’s efforts he had no obvious idea whether she was alive.
“Roger that Jack.” He passed back the messages via Andy Jennings who was happy to remain out of the tunnel and save the Met Police a further dry cleaning bill.
“If we pass down a belt could you allow yourself to be pulled up?”
“I don’t think I’ve got the strength John. I’ll stay here until you can provide another fresh set of hands. Young John here looks like he could do with one any minute now.”
He walked through the water and motioned to Nicol to stop the compressions, allowing him vital rest. All he had to do now was concentrate on the intense cramp in his legs.
“Paramedic is here Jack. Fire Brigade a minute away with a ladder. We’ll have you all out before you can say…”
“Moist?”
As he said it he knew it rang a bell. O’Shea hated the word.
Gheorghiu swung the boat to the left, let go of the throttle and prayed that they would beach in one piece.
“Hold on!”
With the engine cut, the boat’s only noise was when its keel started to run along the submerged debris field that littered the river. The noise increased to the point where it started to attract attention, not ideal, but they had now gone beyond the tipping point.
Two people, foraging with metal detectors on the developing shoreline heard the boat before they saw it, one began to try to outrun it, his boots sinking into the mud and shale.
It narrowly missed him and continued along its trajectory until slithering up the beach and stopping about twenty feet short of a dilapidated iron ladder that clung belligerently to the river defences.
Constantin was out of the boat in seconds. He had been told what to do and who to look for. He forged through the mud, not wishing to spend another second near it and was clambering up the ten rungs, reaching the top of wall and rolling over the top before stopping to get his bearings.
‘You will see an Audi.’
Gheorghiu guided his boss out of the boat and they started to trudge up the beach towards the ladder, caring more for their escape plans than the welfare of any passers-by.
Gheorghiu got to the top and leaned back down to help Stefanescu up the ladder.
Constantin ran left, it was his only option, a sturdy set of gates were stopping him from running into the nearby upmarket apartments.
Twenty seconds later having turned right and away from the river he saw the car.
Abandoning all counter-surveillance protocols he waved frantically.
Hewett looked up from his thoughts and saw a male waving, he was covered in mud, wet through and had an almost manic appearance. He did his best to ignore him initially but noticed he was getting closer.
He instinctively pressed the central locking master button with his elbow without taking his eyes off the male.
‘Start the car John, start, and drive away.’
The male was now banging on the driver’s window, forcibly enough to break the glass.
Hewett had seen and heard enough. He lowered the glass a fraction and yelled.
“Get off my bloody car before I come out there and teach you a lesson. Go on, piss right off. Go!”
As he finished the sentence, he looked forward again. Two more males were travelling faster than walking pace, unable to run for reasons not immediately apparent. But he noticed the older of the two was also wet through, muddy and in a hurry. He was partly guiding the younger male, a blond-haired individual who had a bloodied-bandaged wrapped around his arm. He was comparatively dry but his feet gave the impression of someone who had just run an assault course.
“Jesus Christ it’s him. Look at the state of him.”
Stefanescu reached Hewett’s car, leaned on the bonnet and demanded he let them in.
He lowered the window further. “But you are shat up to the eyeballs man. I’m not letting you anywhere near my car. Seriously, bugger off.” He pointed disparagingly towards Stefanescu’s dishevelled team. “And I don’t want another thing to do with this, or you or them.”
Stefanescu stepped forward, leaned through the window with his right hand and gripped hold of Hewett’s collar. He stared into his face, noting the blood vessels around his blue eyes. Stefanescu’s own complex eyes were glaring ba
ck, his lips had tightened across his teeth and his nostrils had flared slightly. Classic signs of preparation for attack.
He rolled his fist up under Hewett’s chin and pressed into his larynx.
“Ring my brother Mr Hewett. He has something to discuss with you – it relates to your parents and their ongoing welfare. I hear they are enjoying retirement in France.” Stefanescu was smiling. There was no warmth though.
Hewett knew he was cornered.
“I don’t need to ring. Get in. But be careful with the seats.”
The Romanian turned to his partners in crime. “Get in, we need to move before we attract any more damned attention.”
As Stefanescu sank into the black leather seat, the Audi engine started. Hewett put it into reverse and started to swing around into an opening. He turned the car around and began to drive back towards the main road.
“There, my good friend. Isn’t that better? Do you know where to go?” He raised his eyebrows quizzically before wiping mud from his legs deliberately onto the seat covering.
Hewett was visibly furious but knew he had to pick his battles.
“You stink. And those two in the back smell like a cesspit.” He lowered the rear windows, enough to let air in but not so low as to allow people to look in.
“Better to smell of a sewer than of fear itself Mr Hewett. Turn left here, get over the Thames and head south on the A2. As fast as you can. We have another watery tunnel to get through.”
“How are you going to do that without a vehicle?” Hewett asked incredulously.
Stefan’s wounded and exhausted answer was tinged with a gentle amount of laughter as he leaned forward slightly and pressed the heated seat button, needing its warmth to sooth his shattered body. He grinned, gripped Hewett’s chin with his good hand and said “It’s simple. You are coming with us Johnnie. You, are coming with us.”
Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2) Page 35