The Nursery

by Asia Mackay

  ‘Jake – I’ll take the door. You take the entrance stairs.’ I checked my watch. ‘The auction starts in ten minutes. Go!’

  We separated and walked fast towards the respective doors.

  ‘G-Force, patch in Hattie – he’s going to need to be updated if we find anything.’

  I walked up to the door marked ‘Private’ and, without slowing down or even looking round, went through. The combination of my black trouser suit and a confident air of belonging should be enough to stop anyone questioning me. Otherwise a flash of one of my police or Security Service IDs and talk of a confidential operation would ensure no one got in my way.

  I got down one flight of stairs without seeing anyone; on the second there were two girls who looked not long out of school, on the landing whispering to each other and giggling. Interns catching up on last night’s gossip. They went quiet as I came past, giving them a nod. I kept going. One more flight of stairs to the vaults. I came out the door and into a narrow corridor. The right led to the vaults, the left to the Ryder Street delivery door.

  To my right was empty.

  To my left there was a broad back in a pinstripe suit walking towards the exit.

  ‘Eyes on Frederick,’ I spoke softly.

  ‘Take him alive, Lex.’ Hattie’s voice came in through my earpiece. ‘You can’t risk firing. If there’s a bomb he could be wearing a trigger vest.’

  I took a deep breath and walked towards him.

  He stopped. And turned around slowly.

  ‘Hello, Lex.’

  ‘Frederick.’

  ‘Now, let’s not make a scene. Lots of innocent people around here. And let’s face it, I could crush you without even really trying. Although I don’t usually hit women. It’s just not—’

  I punched him in the face before he could finish.

  He may have been bigger than me. He may have even been stronger. But he didn’t have the training. He hadn’t spent a year at the Farm. Learning how to fight. Learning how to kill. He thought he could beat me. The trained Rat. Because he was a boy. And I was a girl.

  Before he had time to recover from the blow to the face I struck again with three sharp jabs to his lower torso. He bent over and dropped to the floor, winded.

  Laughter and voices were coming up the corridor from the Ryder Street entrance.

  I roughly pulled Frederick off the ground and propped him up against the wall. He clutched his stomach.

  A couple of porters entered the corridor, pushing a trolley with several boxes on. One was regaling the other with his antics from the night before.

  ‘Why, Frederick? All this just to get rich?’ I spoke quietly. We needed to talk. We needed to be written off as two suited colleagues having a conversation.

  Frederick shrugged. ‘I was bored of my life. I wanted a better one. With nicer things.’

  ‘Thatcher knew you were the Snake, didn’t he?’

  The porters passed right by us; they didn’t even look at us as they continued their conversation about a girl with a frightening amount of facial hair.

  ‘It was my fault. I got lazy. Letting four missions from the same department tank was too much. It was always going to draw attention. Our business model was always for Tenebris to be a high-income earner for a year and then disappear. And now we get to go out with a bang.’

  The porters kept going down the corridor with the trolley towards the vaults.

  A door slammed. I looked to my right. The interns I had passed on the way downstairs were now making their way down the corridor towards us.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, this has been fun. Playing the part of helpful colleague. You liked me, didn’t you? I think you did. I can do likeable very well. And you’re nice. You’re strong. You’re impressive.’ He reached a hand out and cupped my chin. ‘It’s a shame we didn’t get to fuck.’ He said this a little more loudly. The interns must’ve heard – they both turned to us briefly and smirked.

  I waited until they’d passed us before pushing Frederick’s hand off my chin.

  Frederick shook his head. ‘I just don’t understand why you Rats are called the elite. You’ve proven to be a worthy adversary. Just not good enough to beat me.’

  ‘We have beaten you. I could kill you right here.’

  ‘If you do that everyone dies. Forty pounds of C-4 are set to go off the minute the auction starts.’ He looked at his watch. ‘That gives you eight minutes. Eight minutes isn’t long to find and locate a bomb. Eight minutes isn’t really long enough to evacuate. Or is it?’

  Hattie crackled into my ear, ‘G, join Jake on the vault search. Bring a defuser.’ A defuser was a crack device of Geraint’s that was able to mimic the frequency of the bomb and reconfigure the detonator. It had an eighty-nine per cent success rate in testing.

  ‘Just think about what you’re doing. I saw you after you killed that Ghost at the Platform. You couldn’t fake that kind of horror. You don’t want the deaths of that many people on your conscience.’

  Frederick laughed. ‘I was horrified not because I’d killed someone but because that dirty little man bled all over my shoes. It was disgusting.’ He grimaced. ‘I don’t care about killing people. I just don’t like being the one that does it. It’s so messy.’ He shuddered.

  I remembered how he made the same grimace at his daughter’s bleeding. He was happy for people to die just as long as their bodily fluids didn’t touch any part of him.

  ‘Let me go. You need to find the bomb.’

  ‘You could be bluffing.’

  ‘Yesterday morning, at 10.03 a.m., I came to Christie’s flashing my MI6 card with a large ornament of significant international importance that we have asked them to keep safe while we negotiate the terms of its sale. Check with whoever you have listening in there.’ He motioned towards my earpiece.

  ‘I’m on it, hun,’ said Pixie. ‘I’ve already set up the SigBlock.’ The SigBlock stopped remote detonation through a mobile or wireless network. It was only effective outside a radius of twenty feet. Within that range and the bomber could still detonate.

  ‘This bomb might kill Peng. It might not. It’s always the gamble with explosives. But one thing is for sure. It will kill Robin.’

  I let in a sharp intake of breath.

  ‘Robin. Yes, your nice little friend. The one you were so sad about being taken. We didn’t kill him. He was a good failsafe. Just in case we needed him. I can’t guarantee he will still be alive by the time you get to him as he’s in a bit of a state. But don’t you think you should check?’

  ‘At 10.03 a.m. Frederick enters Christie’s at the Ryder Street entrance with a trolley that has a crate that’s about six feet by four feet on it. He goes in with it and emerges empty-handed fourteen minutes later.’

  ‘I can see by your face you’ve had confirmation. The bomb’s there. Strapped to Robin. I just set the detonator. So it will go off in, let’s see . . .’ he looked at his watch, ‘seven minutes from now.’

  Jake crackled in. ‘There are twelve vaults. We’ve searched half so far.’

  Frederick leaned towards me and spoke louder. ‘Hattie, you’d better call off your attack dog. I see that look in her eyes. She wants me dead. And that would be bad for all of us. My heart stops beating and it will detonate immediately.’ He patted his chest. ‘Little remote back-up I’ve got connected. Remember the greater good here, Lex. If I die, you die. Robin dies. Peng dies. Hundreds of people die. Let me go. You go find the bomb. Be the hero.’

  ‘Lex – let him go.’

  ‘Hattie, I—’

  ‘There’s no time, Lex. He could be wearing a detonator. We need him out of range. You need to help G and Jake find that bomb. Pixie will track Frederick’s exit.’

  Fuck. I let go of Frederick. He smirked, gave me a little wave and ran down the corridor.

  I set off for the vaults.

  Hattie came in again. ‘I’m evacuating the whole area using Protocol 324. Demon initiating now.’

  I turned the cor
ner and ran straight into Jake. ‘We’re doing Protocol 324? Again?’

  ‘You and Geraint do the vaults up the other end, I’ll start here.’ Jake ran back down the corridor as I entered the vault next to me.

  Half the vault was full of crates, the other half had removal blankets, packing materials and a few lone pots and empty frames propped against the walls. I rushed round, peering in pots, lifting up crate lids and pulling back paintings.

  I wanted to believe Robin was here and still alive.

  I wanted to believe it.

  But it could just be a bluff.

  And the bomb could be hidden anywhere.

  The fire alarm starting ringing. Ding ding ding. Red lights were flashing down the corridor. Protocol 324 had been activated.

  I headed to the next vault. Works of art were piled round the edges. Even on the floor. Organised chaos. There were small sculptures lined up along the shelves and at the back was a large crate on its side. It was about the same dimensions as the crate Frederick had taken into the vaults on the trolley.

  I ran to it. The crate was nailed shut. There was a small sliding lid within the top of the crate. It was fastened with a combination padlock. This had to be it.

  If there was a bomb counting down inside this crate, I couldn’t risk smashing it open. Too big a jolt could set it off. I looked round the room. It was a cheap padlock, designed to put off nosey porters rather than really keep anyone out. There was a screwdriver on one of the shelves. I ran over to it and picked it up. Just a few well-placed taps should . . . And it was off.

  I took a deep breath and slid back the lid.

  I let out a cry. A crumpled, unconscious Robin was curled up inside. Strapped to him was a black box with a series of red flashing lights attached to blocks of C-4.

  ‘Vault four. I’ve found them. Robin and the bomb.’

  Breaking the crate wasn’t an option. The motion could set it off. The only way to do it was climb in. I peered down. The timer was reading three minutes.

  Jake and Geraint arrived at the vault.

  ‘Robin’s inside. The bomb is strapped to him. Three minutes. G-Force, give me the defuser.’ He reached over to me with it but Jake stopped him.

  ‘Forget it, I’m doing it.’

  ‘Jake, you won’t fit.’ I motioned towards the small opening. ‘Only I can.’ I took the defuser out of Geraint’s hands.

  ‘Now both of you go. Help with the evacuation.’

  Geraint obliged, knocking over a picture on his way out. Jake didn’t move.

  ‘That fucker knew what he was doing. He knew it would have to be you.’ Jake slammed a hand against the wall.

  ‘Jake. Just get out of here. If it goes bad you know what you need to do.’

  The benefit of having a partner who was also godfather to my only child meant one evening over several whiskies I had shown him exactly where on my laptop my post-mortem goodbye to my beloved daughter and husband were.

  ‘I must be able to do something, I must—’

  ‘Get the hell out of here. You know your job. Now do it. Speed up the evacuation. Save lives. I’ve got this.’ I stared him down.

  He nodded. ‘Get our boy back.’ And ran out.

  I climbed into the crate. My feet slowly touched the bottom, just up against Robin’s side. I gingerly lowered myself in, defuser clutched in one hand.

  Inside the crate was stuffy, the air thick. The heavy smell of sweat and wood chippings. I looked at Robin’s cut and bloodied face. I couldn’t see if his chest was moving.

  The bomb beeped.

  59 seconds.

  The final countdown.

  The defuser had three different-sized cable heads coming out its side – the hope being one of them would slot into the bomb. There was a small port on the side of the flashing red incendiary device.

  My hands shook as I tried to attach the defuser.

  The first two cable heads didn’t fit.

  The third did.

  I let out a breath.

  20 seconds.

  ‘Defuser attached.’

  I gently leaned over and felt Robin’s neck. A very faint slow pulse.

  ‘Robin’s alive. But barely.’

  15 seconds.

  I looked at the defuser screen and pressed the ‘start’ button. Numbers started scrolling across the screen as it got to work, hacking the bomb’s detonator.

  Eighty-nine per cent success was a great result when in the testing lab.

  Not so much in the field.

  Not so much when an eleven per cent failure rate meant being blown apart and never seeing your husband and daughter again. The defuser screen went blank and then started counting down in sync with the bomb’s timer. Thoughts flew round my head.

  10

  This could be it. Fuck, this could be it.

  9

  What did I last say to Will?

  8

  Did I tell him I loved him?

  7

  Or was it to have a go about the bins?

  6

  God, I think it was about the bins.

  5

  Gigi.

  4

  She’ll be broken.

  3

  I love you, baby girl . . .

  2

  So much . . .

  1

  Gigi.

  ‘DISARMED,’ announced the screen on the defuser.

  The lights on the bomb all went green.

  I let out a sob.

  Christ.

  It was going to be OK.

  I cleared my throat.

  ‘OK, everyone. The bomb is disarmed.’

  ‘Good work, Lex. Good work.’ I heard Hattie let out a long breath. ‘G, get back in there and clear the device. Medics are on their way for Robin.’

  I felt Robin’s skin. He felt very cold. ‘It’s OK, Robin, you’re going to be OK. Just hold on.’ I patted his cheek.

  Jake crackled in. ‘This way, sir, this way . . . Come on, people, let’s speed this up! . . . Lex. Thank fuck.’ I heard the smile in his voice. ‘I would’ve made a shit step-mum. Peng has left the building. Just getting the last few people out now.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  SKY NEWS REPORT: Piccadilly evacuated upon discovery of an unexploded WW2 bomb.

  My phone had pinged with a news update on our way to the Platform. Protocol 324. Rolled out whenever we wanted an area cleared for reasons we didn’t want to explain. Robin had been whisked away in an ambulance straight to the Chelsea and Westminster. The Kensington Wing had already been briefed to give us constant updates as to his condition. His vitals were very weak but we were all hopeful.

  Hattie was still at Heathrow. Peng and the delegation had gone straight from Christie’s to the airport to wait for their flight. He reported they were currently enjoying fine wine in Suite One of the Windsor Suite and that their plane, due to take off in two hours, had passed all the extensive additional security checks that he’d been able to order using his Security Services ID.

  ‘Any leads on Frederick?’ Jake leaned round from the driver’s seat to call back to Pixie and Geraint, whose fingers were flying across the keyboards of the computers built in to the back of the van.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Geraint. ‘He’s on CCTV leaving Christie’s and then appears entering Fortnum and Mason’s. No other sightings. He could’ve changed what he was wearing and merged into one of the crowds of people leaving. I’m looking further into his background, CV, known associates, for any clue as to what he could do next.’

  ‘I’ve got alerts out for him at all airports, train stations, even ferry crossings,’ added Pixie.

  ‘Problem,’ said Geraint. ‘He’s got a PPL.’ A private pilot’s licence meant Frederick could head to one of the small private airports; with less security and fewer people, he could hire a plane and be over the Channel pretty much unnoticed.

  ‘You need to widen the search. If he’s trying to get out to the BVIs to pick up his art shipment, he co
uld use a light aircraft to get to any country in Europe and fly from there. You need to check passenger manifests on every incoming flight.’

  We had to find him. I needed him secured. The memory of him seated next to Gigi still made me sick to my stomach.

  Kenny, my commando on Gigi and Gillian watch, had confirmed everything was fine at Gillian’s flat – she’d taken Gigi back there for a sleepover as I’d said our heating was on the blink. A lame excuse for a mild October day. Gillian may have questioned it if she didn’t feel the cold so much she’d wear cashmere jumpers even in summer.

  By the time we screeched past Leicester Square, Pixie had found a potential sighting of someone matching Frederick’s description at Elstree Aerodrome. We’d been promised the CCTV shots within the hour. As soon as we confirmed it was him we could track where he flew to from his flight plan.

  ‘I’ve got a ping on Hedge Fund Boy’s Ferrari number plate,’ Geraint shouted to us. ‘It’s now parked in front of Cipriani’s.’

  Pixie was already on the phone. ‘Hello there, this is Mark Somersby’s PA.’ She seemed to have acquired a posh voice. ‘I need to get some urgent documents to him for signing. Pray tell, has he arrived with you yet?’ She paused. ‘Brill. Cheers. I mean . . . how wonderful. Thank you, sir.’ She looked up at us. ‘Mâitre d’ confirmed that Somersby and his guest are there.’

  Jake screeched to a halt on Shaftesbury Avenue and turned back to Geraint and Pixie. ‘You two get back to the Platform. Keep on the leads for Frederick.’

  *

  We pulled up right behind Somersby’s Ferrari. It was illegally parked. His type would rather pay the parking fine than face the inconvenience of walking too far.

  ‘How do we play this?’ I asked Jake as we got out the van and walked up to the restaurant. ‘Local police? Scotland Yard?’ We each had wallets with an array of genuine IDs for any one of the law enforcement agencies.

  ‘You choose. I’m just looking forward to humiliating him by dragging him out in handcuffs. Here’s to hoping he knows plenty of people inside.’

  ‘Now, remember. Don’t get too enthusiastic with your interrogation. We need to get out of him who his partner is. Miss Jenna only knew he was a business associate. We need a name.’