“Alex, it’s not that,” Marcus interrupted.
“He’s one of us. We can’t leave him out there by himself,” Alex begged. “Please we’ve got to find him. He’s not as strong as he looks.”
Marcus shook his head and reached forward to console her. “Alex stop.”
She pulled back. “He’s no use to them now. If they catch him he’ll be in real trouble.” She looked back towards the door.
“It’s too late,” Marcus said.
“What did you do? Did you throw him out?” Alex said, swiping hands away from her.
“No Alex. You need to listen,” Toby insisted.
“Please. He’s my Dad. He’s one of us,” Alex cried.
Toby nodded. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t tell you.”
“Alex.” Emma took her hand and gripped her arm to hold her still. “Your father is dead.”
21 - The Spy
Where was it? Clothes and kit were stuffed awkwardly into pockets of the backpack. Somersby had never packed to regulation, not even during training. Maybe breaking the rules was why she had survived so long, but right now she could see their benefits. Where the hell was it?
Something clattered to the ground. The echo rattled across the room, but it was smothered by the flaming row that was still reverberating off the ceiling. Most of the conversation had been easily and awkwardly audible across the base. Quite a lot of it needed reporting to Inspector Gray. To start with, her suspicion had been confirmed - Toby was the security chief.
Somersby glanced up from her bag to check the locations of the council members. It took her a while to locate Zoe, until the sleek senior shifted her position at the banister halfway up the roof staircase. She must be hiding up where Toby couldn’t get at her. Back on the ground floor Marcus and Ewan were easier to find. Marcus was uncharacteristically keeping his cool and keeping an eye on Toby at the medical bay. Alex was there with Emma. Reliable Ewan was leading Barney and a few others back to the dining tables now that the drama was over. Martyn must still be down in the cellar network scoping out the tunnels with Anthony.
Nobody was interested in what weird little Gina was up to.
With her hands still on automatic, rummaging through the bag, Somersby heard a tinny scraping noise and looked down. Ah, of course, her comms was hidden in her flask to muffle the radio signal. It stopped some busybody helicopter pilot with a beacon sweeper from accidentally ruining her undercover work by planting a bomb on her head. Somersby pulled the comms out of the flask, careful of who was watching, and deposited it in her bra. She then slowly repacked the bag.
This place was far too open to use the comms. On top of that the guards were on edge and the exits were covered. To get out unseen she first needed to plant a few ideas in the diners’ heads.
The thought of chumming up to these guys was like chewing gravel. Ever since she arrived she’d been cold and closed off to them. Hywel was her only ally, and that was just a ruse. Poor Hywel learnt the hard way that you can’t trust deals with the police. Gray would have seen Hywel’s story turn out very different, but instead Hywel suffered Defoe’s rigid sense of justice.
In any case, now that Hywel was gone Somersby had to bond with someone if she was to pass under the radar. Maybe that wouldn’t be for long. The news about the Erikssen massacre had not passed her by. One of her close friends had been working undercover at that base. This was a dangerous time to be undercover. Somersby doubted the spy at Gateway was given a pull-out order.
Sliding herself into a seat at a dining table, Somersby settled on the edge of a conversation developing between Ewan, Barney and a few others. She listened, waiting for the right moment.
“Ewan, we need to find out how she escaped. That place was like a blue beehive when we checked it,” Barney said.
Steve, a steely guard of fifty-nine, agreed. “We skirted the whole compound, as much as we could. They had the dog teams out.”
Ewan hushed them. “Hey now, she’s just got here. Give Emma time to check her over.”
“She’s fine. It’s Toby that’s in a state,” Barney said, irritably.
“Hang on, she’s just found out her father’s dead,” Steve said.
“Was Toby caught by the police?” Pete asked, a wiry gentleman in his late sixties.
“No,” Ewan said, adamantly. “I don’t know what happened to Toby, but it wasn’t the cops who shook him up.”
“We need to know, Ewan,” Barney repeated.
Gina leaned in subtly. “I agree, mate. We need to know what the cops were told.”
Ewan looked at her dismissively. “What do you mean?”
Gina shrugged nonchalantly. “Hywel brought me here and days later he’s sold me out to the cops. It doesn’t sound right, that’s all.”
Barney took the bait. “Are you saying...? Do you think Alex talked?”
“Enough!” Ewan glowered. “This speculation is ridiculous.”
“Sorry. I just can’t believe Hywel would do that,” Gina said, keeping her conviction.
Steve thumped the table. “Hywel openly admitted on TV that he’d bailed on us.”
“He could be covering for Alex,” Gina countered.
“Alex is stronger than he is,” Steve said. “Barney, you know that’s the truth.” He begged his friend to believe him.
Barney paused and nodded. “Steve’s right.”
Pete leaned in. “But she’s still just a kid.”
“What possible reason could Hywel have for betraying us?” Gina asked.
Ewan stood up and leaned over the group. “Enough. Enough of this. We’ll find out what we need to soon. I doubt any of this will make sense even after that. In the meantime, get to your jobs.”
“Ewan,” Barney chastised.
“Bloody hell, Barney. Get up those stairs and work for a living.” Ewan jumped back from his seat, pulling the unwilling Steve up and away from the table.
The group dispersed. Gina hid a smile as she stepped away. Where next?
A couple of guards were lurking near the entrance, Debbie and Erica were cleaning the last of the dishes and a few kids were being herded into the backrooms for their classes. They’d all be gone soon. The only people who would be left in the main space of the warehouse then would be Zoe, Emma and her two walking wounded.
A hush was settling on the room. Over at the sickbay the shadows had slowed to a gentle flicker. Somersby slipped over to the edge of the stairs, using their metal frame to hide her outline while she watched. Alex was lying down on a pop-up bed, looking too relaxed for someone who had just been hysterical. Emma must have doped her up. This was perfect. They could recapture Alex Jenkins.
The medic was patching Toby up. They sat opposite each other, with little Emma’s hands systematically picking up pieces of kit and bandaging Toby’s leg. Their rasped whispers were contained, but their body language suggested she was trying to cool down Toby’s hot temper. Her healing gifts couldn’t cool that fever.
The metal grate of the staircase banister above Somersby’s head reverberated with the tapping of shoes. Zoe was moving up towards the roof. That was another witness gone.
A shout came from the sickbay. Toby was on his feet and Emma was trying to coax him back onto the chair. What was he up to? Tottering, weighing himself heavily on Emma, Toby guided Emma away towards the back room. Checking the stairs again, Somersby crept forwards, following Toby as they disappeared through a doorway. She paused at the sickbay - she must not be caught sneaking around by Alex.
The girl was out cold. She looked so young, so innocent, lying there on the bed. What possessed the Ackersons to take kids with them to prison breaks? Even cops that were brought up in barracks did not enter active service until they were eighteen. Alex Jenkins was still classed as a minor, according to the law. She was too young to fully understand her actions.
Defoe himself had a whole wall dedicated to intel on this girl, yet she slipped through his fingers time and again. Now here she was, just waiting next
to a table of potentially toxic medication, if Somersby was so disposed. A quick knife to the throat would put an end to her or she could try to carry her out through the cellar network.
That was it - a tracker. Turning swiftly back across the room, Somersby skipped over to her sleeping mat. Watching the exits, the roof, the back room, she pulled open her bag this time knowing exactly where she had hidden her tool of choice. Hidden in the bag liner was an intravenous tracker, complete with syringe. Alex was ready and waiting for Somersby to embed a tracker. The little rebel would not have a clue.
There it was. Her lip twitched momentarily into an unnatural curl as she slipped the syringe into her pocket. Sweet little Alex was going to be their downfall. The police could now take their merry time to plan another strike. Somersby could get out of here, leave the Ackersons to settle in. They would never leave Alex behind. She was the whole sect’s tracking anklet.
Caution thrown out the window, Somersby took a calming breath and pulled herself upright. Her feet felt light as she walked back across the room. A shadow passed across the roof exit, bringing her back to reality. Nobody was coming down, but she checked her pace.
What was that noise? It sounded like a door dragging on its hinges. It sounded wrong. Too deep and muffled. Somersby could not delay. This was her only chance.
Voices, echoing from somewhere. From the basement. Martyn was back.
It would take time to secure the cellar door, get across the rubbish-strewn basement and come up the stairs. There was no need for Martyn to rush; or at least that was what Martyn thought. Somersby kept her eyes fixed on the trap door, skipping backwards towards the sick bay. Flicking a glance behind her, the spy confirmed Alex was still out for the count.
The syringe was in her hand, poised over the girl’s neck. No movement from the trap door, the roof access or the storage cupboard. Alex was defenceless. All Somersby had to do was inject the tracker and give the beacon code to Gray. Better the girl dies than she dies, right? Every second the spy stayed with the Ackersons was a moment closer to the next bomb strike.
The girl. Lying there, weaknesses exposed and those strong, commanding muscles involuntarily relaxed, awaiting the encroaching death sentence. Maybe it would happen tonight, or tomorrow, or in a year’s time; it didn’t matter when, all that mattered was once this tracker was under the skin it would stay there emitting a beacon right up to that moment when her body passes through the charred doors of the crematorium incinerator. The police could find her whenever they chose.
The needle pricked the skin, the syringe released the liquid into the cavity above the left collarbone. Alex was police property now. If the girl was lucky Defoe would recruit her. She’d get a reprieve to her death sentence, if she behaved herself. Somersby threw the syringe in the sharps bin, smoothed the site of the injection on Alex’s skin and walked back to her pack on the sleeping mats. That’s where Martyn saw her when he lifted the trap door.
“Hey,” she called.
Martyn acknowledged her with a glance, turned and held the trap door open for Anthony. Both men were covered in some sort of grease or oily dirt. Martyn had ripped his shirt and trouser leg on his left side. Something happened down there. The trap door swung shut.
Somersby followed them to the back office.
“Where is everyone?” Anthony asked.
Martyn sighed. “I told them to keep guards on that trap door. What if it were the cops clambering through there?”
Anthony glanced down. “Good luck to anyone trying that route.”
“That bad, was it?” Gina asked.
Martyn spun around and glared at her. “Anthony, go find Zoe. Tell her I want to see her now.”
“Yes, boss,” Anthony said.
“She’s upstairs,” Somersby said.
Martyn called after him, “Then go get yourself washed and changed. We’ve got stuff to do.”
Somersby stepped forward gingerly. “What happened to you two?”
Martyn shook his head. “Not important. We’ve just crossed off an emergency exit.”
That was useful to know.
“What happened here?” Martyn demanded.
Somersby shrugged. “Toby and Alex arrived.”
Wild-eyed, Martyn pushed past her. “Where are they?”
Somersby did not answer. He was heading straight to the medic station. That was all the information she would extract today. Time to report.
Martyn’s shriek cracked the air. Alex’s limp form was clutched close to his chest. A dozen people ran down the roof staircase. He batted people away and shouted for Emma. Chaos was building. Toby and Emma appeared. Somersby slipped into the basement.
The room below the trap door was crammed with boxes and junk furniture that were too hazardous to leave accessible upstairs. Bits and pieces had been neatly piled in front of the door leading to the cellar network. Pushing quietly past the detritus, Somersby lifted the cellar door key from the nail and eased her way into the underground network.
She was no fool. This spy had done her homework before joining the Ackersons. Anthony had experience in the cellar network and if he said it was impassable then Somersby knew there were challenges ahead of her. Then again, she only needed to get to the next building and get up to the ground floor. Anthony and Martyn had been gone for almost four hours. The trouble would be pretty far away.
It was dark, but some sort of ethereal glow gave her light to see a long narrow street ahead of her. The crumbling tar-paved road looked odd down here, as did the cement-patched brick walls. A lot of the windows were replaced with breeze blocks, and the doorways too. Some of the houses only had bars in the window gaps letting the chalky air and rats pass freely.
Something in the distance made Somersby focus, a breathy noise that rattled down her spine. It was not hard to find a passable door down here. Most of the doorways framed forgotten rotting wooden lumps of wood that a firm kick could turn into shards of termite powder. Then it was just a matter of finding the trap door to the surface. This was the warehouse district; the basements were still good storage facilities and easy access was needed.
Ten minutes later, two spies met on the corner of Raven and Market Terrace. It was not ideal. This part of town was exposed to onlookers in the towers above. They had to be quick.
“What do you want, Somersby?” Gray demanded.
She raised an eyebrow. “I want out. I’ve got all the intel I can get and my position is compromised.”
Gray shook his head. “What have you got?”
“Alex Jenkins and Tobias Russell are back at the base. Toby is the security guy. The council are all at the base. Attack now and we’ve got them,” Somersby said.
“Alex is back already? You’re one-hundred percent about this?”
She nodded. “But they’re planning something. Toby was raging off the wall when he found us at that base. He wants them to move and move soon. We need to get them tonight.”
Gray stretched his back. “We are under pressure to recapture Jenkins.”
“Alex was manic when she got back. They sedated her. If we attack now she’s helpless.”
“Not happening,” Gray said dismissively. “There’s a strike on the Monmouth base tonight. That’s priority.”
“‘Cos they’re more dangerous?”
“Exactly.” Gray shrugged.
“They might be more aggressive, but the Ackersons are still dangerous.”
“Enough,” Gray said. Somersby raised her chin, but flicked her eyes away. “We need you back in there.”
“So, I can get a bomb planted on my head?” Her voice broke.
Gray squeezed hard on her arm. “It’s your job. This is what you do.”
Somersby shook him off. “I’ve put a tracker on one of them. We can follow them if they jump base. I’m not needed in there.”
His face lit up surreptitiously. “Who? Come on, I need to know.”
She smirked. “Tracker number eight five nine zero one zero. Alex Jenkins.”
He cackled and threw his head back. “One day you’ll have to tell me how you did that. Defoe will be very pleased with you.”
Her expression soured. “I didn’t do it for him. I did it so I can get out of there.”
Gray’s face twisted. “You’re my girl. I need you in there doing the good work that you do. You know I’d pull you out if the risk is too great. You’re a good asset.”
That was not enough. “I saw what happened at the Erikssen base. Right now, the risks are great.”
Gray ignored her. “I’ll get the techs to confirm the tracker is live. Then we can discuss pulling you out.”
Somersby sulked.
Gray talked over her silence. “I’ve got another job lined up for you after this. Be patient. And get back to them. We need to keep an eye on them now.”
Somersby turned to walk away, but her commander pulled her back. His eyes softened and darkened as he pulled something out of his pocket. “You want a warning? Do you know what will happen if they find you with this?”
His palm blossomed around a one-way receiver.
A smile twitched. “Yes. Yes, they’d kill me for sure.” She let out a momentary laugh and reached out, waiting for his permission to take it.
He dumped it unceremoniously in her hand. “It’s your choice. You can either dump it in the trash on your way back to the base or you can take it into the base and wait for the exit beacon. The first option might get you killed when we drop a bomb on the base or do a rough takeover. The second could get you killed today when the Ackersons find the receiver.”
She cocked her head at him. “I had a radio already.”
“In your backpack? This one, keep on your person at all times. You can’t hide it in the walls or in your pack. The cheapest comms detector will find it,” he said.
Hugging the receiver close, Somersby slipped away. “I’ll take my chances.”
22 - The Daughter
Steady, deep breaths harmonised around Alex’s mat. The little whistle of Martyn’s morning breath exhaling through his broken nose was unreasonably calming to her. Hearing his body at rest was more reassuring that the creaking roof yielding to the night guard footsteps.
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